


Little Things

by lixabiz



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Roommates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 52,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lixabiz/pseuds/lixabiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rose Tyler faces eviction due to her scumbag boyfriend Jimmy Stone, she finds herself moving into a little house owned by the awkward, vision-impaired John Smith. Donna Noble makes three. [Previously known as the “writer’s block project”. I am writing ~1000 words a day in an effort to get my mojo back. College/Uni/Roommates AU.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Halfway into September, the odds were decidedly against her.  

The very first bulletin she looked at was not particularly inspiring. FLATMATE WANTED. NO BATHROOM.

 _Oh lord._ She wasn’t quite _that_ desperate. Yet. Moving onto the next listing, a momentary burst of hope flared in her chest. It seemed quite promising at first - SHARED KITCHEN, QUIET STUDENT, NO PETS, NO SMOKERS - but then her eyes fell upon the expected rent requirement and she groaned. _Bloody flippin’ exorbitant!_

Something akin to despair started to set into the pit of her stomach. Just two weeks after the start of term and she was already on the verge of being homeless - _fantastic_.

There was one last notice on the board, but it had been torn in half, as if by someone as desperate to find a place to stay as she was. She stared at the half-sheet that remained, and could make out the words FLATSHARE, part of a name and phone number, but no address. Rose scowled.

 _It’ll be fine,_ she told herself. _You still have seven days. You’ll find something, no worries.  
_

—-

The next day was not much better.

She exhausted the rounds at Uni, but there were no vacancies in the residence halls and she didn’t really fancy having to beg Mickey to crash on his settee _again_ , and could almost hear him saying _I told you so_ just as loudly as she could imagine hearing those words coming from her Mum’s lips.

The thought made her spine stiffen, and she went back to the bulletin board where there were exactly zero new notices. 

The half-torn notice, still there, fluttered in the breeze. With a sigh, Rose turned away to go home while she still had one.

—-

_I’m gonna be homeless at this rate._

Desolation crumpled her shoulders, and her eyes began to sting. Just what she needed, really, to start bawling right in the middle of campus on a dreary Thursday morning.

“Could always kip in the hallways between lectures,“ she muttered tearily under her breath.

 _Or go home_ , said a smug male voice in her head, and just the imaginary sound of his unreliable, stinking, rat-arsed fecking twat voice made anger swell up inside her again-

Deep breaths. Deeeeeeep, deep breaths.

She’d blown through her allowance for the term, thanks to that piece of shite Jimmy Stone, henceforth to be known as ‘Rat-Arsed Twat-Face’. He’d done a runner, leaving her with two months rent due at his flat, which he had previously assured her would be _their_ flat, only to disappear last Wednesday. An eviction letter taped to the splintered front door had been the only goodbye he’d left behind.

Four more days left.

The reality of the situation was becoming clear: she would have to go home and tell her parents the truth. She’d been duped and conned by a boy, a cheating Rat-Arsed Twat-face, and she would have to sit in the kitchen and recount everything as a result of his horrible deeds. Mum would tell her off with the baby in her lap whilst Dad paced about looking disappointed.

Misery trumped, and the stress of the last few days overwhelmed her at last. She started to cry. Right there.

“Oh god,” she moaned, swiping at her eyes as footsteps approached.

“Hey,” said a female voice, accompanied by a head of rather shiny red hair, peering down at her with a concerned expression. “You alright?”

“Sorry, I’m not- I’m in your way-”

“Don’t worry about it,” said the other girl, who was older than she was by a few years, perhaps. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m- I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not.” She was chided, gently, and steered towards a nearby bench. “Sit. I’ve tissues in my bag, just a mo-”

Regaining herself slightly, she shook her head, but businesslike hands pushed her into the wooden seat, and once she was sitting all her defenses fell.

“My name’s Donna,” said the redhead, passing her a wad of kleenex. “What’s your name?”

“Rose Tyler.” An embarrassing hiccup followed, making Rose even more self-conscious. She ran a hand through her hair and muttered, “Sorry,” once more.

“Don’t be,” said Donna. “What’s the matter? Boyfriend break up with you?”

Rose blew into the tissue and shrugged. Her attempt at casualness wasn’t very convincing, it seemed, and earned her a sympathetic cluck.

“Arse, was he? Nevermind. You’ll do better next time.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time,” Rose replied grimly.

“That bad?” Donna clucked again. “Nevermind. You looking for somewhere to stay?” Her eyes lifted to the bulletin board, and Rose’s glum countenance. “He kick you out? Bastard.”

As nice as it was to have the consolation of a listening ear, Rose also felt weird about spilling her guts to a complete stranger. “I’m fine, really. You really don’t need to stay, I’m alright, you should get on with- with your day, or whatever you were doing.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, really- thanks for the tissue, though.” She stood up, on shaky legs, and made to leave when she noticed the piece of paper in Donna’s hand, half crumpled. “Oh…” she trailed off, realising what the other girl had been meaning to do. She licked her lips. “A-are you posting a listing?”

“Yeah. Been doing it all week, actually.” Donna rolled her eyes and stood, too. She walked over to the bulletin board and rummaged in her jacket pocket. “Someone’s been tearing it down as soon as I put it up, and let me tell you, I’ve a feeling I know who-”

Rose barely heard the rest of the sentence, however, as she craned her neck to peer hopefully at the white 8”x11” sheet, heart beating slightly faster. Was it finally happening? Was her luck taking a turn, for the better?

Donna paused mid-action, and looked over her shoulder at Rose. She tilted her head thoughtfully, and lowered the paper.

“You know,” she began, turning around to face Rose. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

“What?”

Donna shoved her notice back into her pocket. “Tell you what-”

“What?” Rose wished her voice hadn’t gone so squeaky.

“There’s a coffee shop just a block down that way,” said her new friend, with a brilliantly wide smile.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’d be a perfect fit for us,” Donna gushed as they left the cafe less than an hour later, mocha lattes in hand. “It’s a wee bit small, but it’s clean, I promise, and your room has a window with a sunny view. It’s really very lovely-”

Excitement and giddiness trickled through Rose as they drew closer to their destination. A quick looksie before her shift at work started, and if all went well-

“You can bring your stuff over tonight and get settled in!” Donna was very enthusiastic.“Only one bathroom, m'afraid, but we take turns. There’s a kitchen as well - do you cook?”

“Er, sometimes.”

"It’s all yours, then,” Donna grinned ruefully. “Can’t be arsed myself.”

The flat turned out to be a very small looking two-story house situated in a neighbourhood not far from campus. Old houses lined the quiet street, built so close together they almost touched. Their appearance could best be described as ‘quaint’; a less kindly observing eye might call them ‘dilapidated’.

But still - it was more than Rose could’ve hoped for, and she was infinitely grateful.

Donna led her up a little cobbled path separating two tiny front lawns that belonged to neighbours on either side. (‘We don’t have our own yard - no maintenance!’) A blue door stood at the end of it, with a peculiar white sign hanging above the lock at chest level. It read ‘In case of emergency, pull doors to open’, which made no sense whatsoever. (No matter- she’d figure that one out later.)

“It’s bigger than it looks on the inside,” said Donna, mistaking Rose’s hesitance for displeasure. “Come on in-”

Somehow Donna was right, and the little house _was_ bigger, or at least seemed to be once they were inside. A cozy alcove painted in the same shade of blue as the front door greeted them, full of wooden pegs from which various coats and woolly jumpers hung. One door led to a narrow flight of stairs going up, while an adjacent door opened onto the kitchen.

“Den’s over here,” Donna slung her bag onto the kitchen table, and didn’t seem to notice that she’d knocked over a row of glass tubes. A chemistry set was scattered across it, complete with bunsen burner and piles of papers.

“Sorry, it’s a mess - but it’s mostly books, not plates or takeaway or anything like that. I’m strict about that sort of thing, y’know. Don’t want roaches crawling about the place!”

Rose’s spirits lifted as the tour went on. The kitchen was perfectly serviceable, bunsen burner aside, with a working stovetop and refrigerator. The living room had an old television set, something out of the fifties with antennae and poor reception, but Donna said it worked fine with a blue-ray player anyway. A beaten sofa upholstered in brown leather, surrounded by more piles of books was the only other piece of furniture in the room.

“D’you read a lot?”

“Nah,” Donna laughed. “Not me.” With that cryptic remark, she bypassed the closed door to the left - Rose assumed it must be some sort of closet - and retraced their steps back to the front alcove. They went upstairs.

“That’s my room,” said Donna, gesturing to the first door at the landing, “And the second door is the bathroom. Your room is the last one, at the end of the hall. Go on. Take a look.”

She did. The walls were a dusty cross between beige and mauve, a faded remnant of whatever colour had been originally applied to them years, perhaps decades ago. There was one dresser, a small writing table, and a stripped down bed in the corner.

“What d’you think?”

For a moment, Rose was unable to speak. She looked at the window above the bed with it’s filmy white curtain, watched several dust motes float in the morning sunshine, and felt herself crumble from the relief.

“Oh god,” said Donna in alarm, crossing the room immediately and putting an arm around her, “God, I’m sorry, it’s honestly not so bad- just a bit dusty, nothing some paint and a broom can’t fix-”

Rose shook her head and half-laughed, half-sobbed, sinking onto the bed. “No, it’s-it’s fine. It’s perfect. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You gave me a fright!” Donna said wryly, sitting on the bed as well. “That a yes, then?”

“ _Yes,_ ” said Rose emphatically, with a sob to boot.

“Excellent!” Her new housemate gave a cheer and clapped her hands together with glee. “Let’s go get your stuff right now!”

“I have to go to work first,” Rose reminded her.

“Oh, yeah- well, nevermind, let’s just go downstairs and celebrate, shall we? I’ve a box of unopened chocolate truffles you’re gonna _love_ -”

“I’m in- but can I use the loo, first?”

Donna scurried downstairs in search of her chocolate while Rose stood at the sink in the tiny bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. A strange, light-headed sort of joy bubbled in her chest as she looked around, finding herself unaccountably delighted with the mundane fixtures.

_I love you,_ she said mentally to the sink; _nice to meet you,_ she said to the fluffy bath mat; and _hello you darling,_ to the toilet.

“You are the most cheerful yellow shower curtain in all of Britain!” she declared loudly, reaching out to pull the slightly mildew-ridden thing aside to take a look at the tub. Rose was already fond of it and knew she would spend many hours relaxing in it. The very thought made her feel like weeping with joy.

Strangely, however, the curtain resisted her efforts to look at her new best friend. She looked down to see the hem of it caught on a stack of books - _again_. Odd, that. Rose bent to push the books away and froze. Something lay on the rim of the tub, peeking out from beyond the curtain edge. Her blood ran cold.

It was a hand. A very, very, pale hand.

Rose gasped and recoiled, inadvertently yanking the fabric further away to reveal more of the horrific sight. Something crunched and shattered underfoot as she stumbled backwards, a silent scream lodging itself in her throat- 

There was a naked, unmoving body in the half-filled bathtub.


	3. Chapter 3

“You scared Rose half to death!”

Donna punctuated her accusation with a pointed finger at the pale, skinny bloke sitting on the sofa, whose wet hair was currently dripping onto the upholstery and ruining it. He stared blearily back at her, rubbing at his swollen eyes, casting them briefly in Rose’s direction… 

Rose shivered, recalling how that gaze had seemed so hollow and sightless earlier, as if he’d truly been dead. It had been like something out of a horror film - his perfectly still body resting against the tub, eyes open… she’d let loose an ear-splitting scream that had Donna sprinting back up the stairs in a panic, and even more amazingly, woken the dead- or so she’d thought, her screams intensifying in volume.

Several minutes of chaos, terror, naked shouting and the hasty donning of clothing ensued, in which it was established that he:

1) wasn’t dead-

2) hadn’t been murdered and left to waste away in the tub, and

3) definitely wasn’t a flesh eating zombie lying in wait for fresh prey.  

Right. Good. She could breathe again after that, but had to be firmly led into the living room on shaky legs and sat down. When she was calm again, and her heart had stopped hammering against her ribcage in an effort to escape, introductions were finally made.

His name was John Smith, he was twenty-five, a graduate student, and he was in fact her _other_ new housemate.

Still squinting in her direction, John said in a bemused, wary voice, “She barged in on me, technically-”

Rose averted her gaze, opting to stare at the spreading wet patch across the chest of his dark blue t-shirt instead. Her cheeks flamed as the memory of that same bare torso sprung vividly into her mind. She cringed inwardly. He was right: she _had_ intruded on him first.

_Ugh._ Bloody brilliant first impression.

“Sorry,” Rose mumbled, embarrassed. No one noticed.

“Anyway, I was _tired_ , Donna, I was just resting-”

Completely silent, completely unaware of someone else entering the room? Had he been asleep? But his eyes had been open, she thought, he couldn’t have-

“-You could’ve drowned, you nitwit-!”

“-Oh come on, there was _at most_ three inches of water in there-” He broke off, rubbed at his eyes again and winced. “Bah!”

Donna frowned. “Stop that, you’re making it worse-”

“It’s itchy,” he grumbled. “I’m fine, don’t fuss, you’re not my mother.”

“Bloody right I’m not your mother,” she retorted, punching him in the arm. There was something rehearsed about the exchange, as if they’d done it a million times before, and despite her rolled eyes and flippant tone, Donna still seemed to be concerned.

_More like an older sister,_ Rose thought, noting the distinct air of protectiveness that existed between them.

“Ow.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“You punch too hard, every time!” he complained. “I’ve bruises all up and down my arm because of you!”

Donna snorted. “Yeah right, you big baby.”

She turned back to Rose and put on her big, friendly smile again. “Never mind him, he’ll be fine. Let’s break out those chocolates I promised you and get on with our celebration!”

Apparently that was that, then. Rose smiled back a bit tremulously, watching John’s expression out of the corner of her eye. He seemed rather put out still, though he hadn’t openly rejected the idea of Rose moving in. Her elation at finding a new place to stay was considerably dampened by this unbearably awkward start. She fervently hoped they’d be able to get over it, with time-

Rose gasped with a jolt. The time! She hurriedly checked her watch, and gasped again. “Oh my god! My shift! I’ve got to go!”

“What time will you be back?” Donna inquired, as Rose rushed to gather her bag from the floor. John stood up, blinking rapidly and making faces.

“Maybe… nine-thirty? I finish my shift at nine.”

“S’a bit late. D’you need help?”

“No, it’s okay, I-”

“John can come round with his car- oi, have you got enough petrol in that thing to make it to Rose’s by nine-ish?”

“I can’t!” came the irritated response.

“Why not?” Donna demanded.

“It’s fine,” Rose said hastily, looking back and forth between the two of them, her nerves still all jumbled from her earlier scare. “I really don’t need help, I don’t have much stuff-”

“It’ll take no time at all, then, will it, Doc?”

The moniker was a bit of a mystery, but it seemed to have an odd sort of effect on John every time Donna used it. He twitched. “My eyes-”

“You said they’re fine, and I know I saw a bottle of eye lubricant in the loo. Wait until you leave to put your contacts in.”

“Fine, fine!” John admitted defeat, throwing both arms up as he crossed the room to leave. “I’ll just go and flush my eyes out, shall I, before I submit to your wishes, _your majesty_?”

His sarcastic send-off was unfortunately marred by the fact that he walked straight into the television stand on his way to the door. It nearly toppled over as he gave a loud grunt, having stubbed his foot.

“Nice one,” scoffed Donna, moving past him into the kitchen, “Suave.”

Rose went over to help, but was soundly ignored. John clumsily got up on his own, wincing. She laid a tentative hand on his arm and asked, “You alright?”

He jumped, as if startled to find her next to him. “Sorry,” he muttered after a short pause, shoulders tense, “Can’t see that well without my glasses.”

Heat climbed to Rose’s cheeks again, and guilt flooded her. She backed off as he coughed and tried to act casual, running a hand through his wet hair.

_Great_ , she thought glumly. It was her fault that his glasses were now lying in the bin, completely useless. She’d stepped on them in the bathroom in the midst of her hysteria.

“I’m really sorry,” she offered at last, biting her lip. “I feel awful about all this-”

“Nevermind.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m sorry, too. About what happened.”

“As you should be,” Donna’s voice called out from the kitchen, “She had to look at your bits- _gag!_ It’s enough to put anyone off their truffles!”


	4. Chapter 4

The world was nothing more than a blurry mass of indistinct shapes and fuzzy-edged blobs of colour to him. Since he only owned the one pair of glasses - and Rose Tyler had destroyed them under her heel - he was now left practically blind.

Donna, who never missed a thing, knew straight away that he couldn’t see and set to harassing him. It was her favourite activity after making him go shopping/making him carry all the shopping. (They weren’t related, no, but sometimes he thought they might as well be.)

“She’s really pretty, actually,” Donna said once their new housemate had left. “Big brown eyes, long lashes…”

Pausing in the act of splashing water into his eyes, John stiffened. “What?” 

“-bit of a wide mouth, but that smile is _gorgeous_ , and she’s blonde, too - exactly your type.”

“I do not have a type.”

Donna merely laughed. “Get your glasses fixed, dummy, then we’ll see.”

“No,” he began, heatedly. Actually- “Why? Why would you even want something like that to happen?”

He just didn’t _understand_ Donna’s thought process. But did he really want to? The inner goings-on of her mind were likely similar to that of half a dozen bear traps mixed with a suitcase full of Eastenders trivia bits - best avoided, under any circumstance.

As always, she dodged him. They’d known one another for too long, had had far too many verbal spars to give up the game too easily. “Uh, well, if you _want_ to stay blind for the rest of your life-”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Donna’s voice was wry. “I have no idea what you meant, then.”

“It’s a bad idea. With a flatmate, especially.”

“I think,” said Donna, after a pause, “That it’s always going to be a bad idea, with you, isn’t it?” Her voice held a note of reproach, and more irritatingly, a hint of pity as well, which John did his best to ignore.

“I’ve readings to do,” he said prudently, with absolutely no intention to do so at all.

—–

The gorgeous blonde in question (he didn’t doubt the description, Donna didn’t dole out praise where it was undeserved - one of her better traits) showed up promptly at nine o'clock with her bags in tow, saving him a drive ‘round to wherever it was she was currently living. She’d begged off work early, and he was glad about that. The pair of contacts he kept as a backup were old, not his latest prescription, and wearing them was only marginally better than going without.

“Ta,” she said, in that south London accent of hers, when he took both her suitcases and carried them carefully (blindly) upstairs.

It wasn’t her fault, after all, that Donna had ulterior motives, and he did feel a bit bad about frightening her so badly earlier that day. He just hoped he wouldn’t do something embarrassing like trip on an uneven floorboard.

Naturally, as soon as he had the thought, he walked into the door of her bedroom, banging his head.

She sounded genuinely distressed, hovering around at chest level and asking worriedly, “Oh god, are you alright?”

He flung the bags down with a thud, muttered that he was perfectly fine, and retreated to his room, ears burning.

—-

There was no end to his embarrassment. Rose Tyler seemed to have been sent by the universal Powers-That-Be for the specific purpose of making him feel like a bumbling idiot.

John stumbled half-asleep out of bed and up the stairs to the loo, eyes as dry as the Sahara desert. It was early, far too early for Donna the night-owl to be up, which meant he always got first dibs on the toilet.

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that there was another person living in the house now. Another person who got up early on Fridays for a morning lecture. It wouldn’t have been a problem, really, if he’d been able to see. Or even if he’d been more awake, and hadn’t overshot the door to the bathroom by a foot.

Her shriek of surprise, followed by a hard shove that sent him sprawling back into the hallway informed him that he had indeed turned the wrong doorknob, and that the individual inside the room had been in the midst of undressing herself.

—–

“I didn’t see anything,” he said solemnly into the silence at the kitchen table. His cereal sat cold in its bowl, untouched. “I swear.”

There was a pause by the kitchen sink, save for the sound of the tap being turned on and then turned off. A reply came, but it was distinctly skeptical.

“I s'pose that makes us even?”

“That is _not_ what I was trying to do!” John said, aghast. “I _really_ didn’t see anything.”

“I believe you.” Rose Tyler patted him awkwardly on the hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

(Was she truly not bothered, he wondered, or was she simply pretending out of anxiety over being allowed to stay? Donna had mentioned a pressing need for a new flat, something about getting evicted…? In any case, she needn’t worry, because John absolutely did not object to sharing the house with a third tenant. It was sheer necessity, given that he and Donna were struggling to pay the bills on his measly Uni stipend and her part time job as a Saturday Girl. Having someone else to share the burden was frankly a relief. He might even be able to afford a new pair of glasses someday, if she stayed…)

“Really, it’s not a big deal - I know you didn’t see anything. No harm done. I was in my pants, anyway, not _actually_ naked.”

“Oh.”

(He told himself repeatedly that he was glad he hadn’t gotten an eyeful and truly, he was. But still - he _really_ needed new glasses.)


	5. Chapter 5

Several days went by without further incident, and Rose began to settle into her new lodgings with careful optimism. She got on really well with Donna, who was funny and sarcastic and all around brilliant. Everything she could possibly want in a flatmate.

John, on the other hand - not so much. He was not-so-subtly steering clear of her, locking himself into his bedroom at night while the girls ate chips and watched telly together.

Donna burst into laughter when Rose asked if he was always this shy around new people, which she took to mean _no_. 

“He’s just sulking because he’s made a terrible first impression on you. Ha! Shy! Him? You’ve got to be joking! He’s not like this at all usually - always mouthing off every chance he gets - he loves attention, the show-off.”

This was a bit hard to believe - Donna seemed to be describing a completely different person.

Maybe she was trying to spare Rose’s feelings, because it was much more likely that John simply didn’t like her. The thought made her feel funny inside. Not that she liked him or anything - _God no._ No more boys for her ever again, thank you very much. She’d learned her lesson the hard way.

Still, Rose racked her brains trying to think of ways to befriend him. They didn’t have to be best mates - it was just very awkward to live with someone who felt like they had to avoid you all the time. In a house the size of this one it was almost impossible.

“Actually, he owns the place,” Donna told her during a programme break, “His parents left it to him when they died - about ten years ago.”

“Oh… really?”

Rose found herself feeling a pang of sympathy towards him - as well as a sudden desire to ring her parents up for a chat. She’d not called them in a while… maybe she would do that tomorrow and update them with her new address… she could do with a care package, too…

Donna was still chatting away, happy to have someone to gossip with. “I’ve known him for ages but I’ve only lived here for two years - that’s a record, y'know, he had other people before us - none of them lasted long.”

Hmm.

Well, John _was_ rather odd - he wasn’t exactly unattractive, but didn’t seem to care about personal grooming or fashion at all. Frumpy was the best word to describe him, really. He wore the same blue robe around the house every time she saw him, and his hair was a constant, wild mess. She wondered if he slept at all because his eyes were continuously bloodshot.

After the-walking-in-on-her-getting-dressed-thing, which had been an accident, not revenge or perversion (she hoped), he took to letting Rose use the loo first in the mornings, though he often got up way earlier than she did. The sound of him moving about directly beneath her was a better wake up call than her alarm clock. The walls were rather thin, and curious sounds rose now and then through the floorboards, but what he did in the privacy of his own bedroom was his own business.

The kitchen table seemed to be his de-facto workspace when he wasn’t sequestered away at night, making it a bit difficult to actually use the room for its intended purpose. Donna and John appeared to subsist mainly on takeaway and corner store snacks. As much as Rose enjoyed chips, an entire week of eating nothing else was starting to make her feel queasy and bloated.

She poked her head into the kitchen on a Sunday morning, hoping he wouldn’t be there. No such luck. He sat bent over the table, surrounded by paper and staring unblinkingly at an open book.

“Sorry,” she began, wondering if he’d be annoyed if she asked him to take his reading elsewhere.

He hadn’t heard her. “John?”

Still nothing. With a sigh, she backed out of the kitchen, left him to his devices, and went searching for her last packet of crisps.

—–

Avoiding her was one thing: deliberately pretending she didn’t exist was a _totally_ different thing.

For a few days she tried to rationalize it as simply a lack of social graces on his part - Donna said apologetically that John could come off as rude sometimes, but that he didn’t mean it and didn’t have a single malicious bone in his body.

(‘Just let me know if he offends, I’ll give him a whack to the back of the noggin for ya, sometimes the idiot needs it. Once he snaps out of his silly humiliation induced-funk and the two of you make friends you’ll see what I mean.’)

But honestly, a girl could only be ignored for so long before she got fed up.

Rose was already in a foul mood, anyway. A text from Rat-Arsed Twat-Face first thing in the morning was the cause, even though it was unread and deleted immediately from her phone. She got ready angrily - losing an earring behind the dresser and  tearing her tights in the process - which only served to drop her mood even further.

It didn’t help that the kitchen was in a state of major disarray. John had spread his usual mess across the table again, books and paper and computer and ever present chemistry set. He was reading something on his laptop, and didn’t so much as acknowledge her 'Good Morning’.

She tried again, her tone more arch this time.

There was still no response. John sat staring fixedly ahead at his screen. Rose flushed, her temper flaring momentarily.  

Blokes were such _bastards_ , all of them, liars and cheats and uppity _snobs_ when they weren’t trying to get into your pants or your chequing account. It was so unfair, she fumed, that they somehow kept getting the upper hand on her - she’d nearly ended up homeless because of bloody Jimmy Stone, and now she had to tiptoe around bloody John Smith, wondering if he’d tell her to get out, too.

She didn’t know what his problem was, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around to find out. If he wanted to be childish about things, so be it.

“Fine - have a good day, then,” she said coldly to the air, snatching up her bag and slamming the front door shut behind her.

_So much for being friends._


	6. Chapter 6

John woke with a start to the sound of someone leaving the house rather violently. The door was going to come straight off its hinges one day if they kept that up, he thought with a scowl.

Anyway. Back to work. If he sat with his face two inches from his laptop screen he could sort of read zoomed-in text, but it definitely wasn’t fun. Blinking several times in rapid succession, he tried to get his blurry vision to focus. It didn’t work. _Bah._ He stretched, rotating his head to get the crick out of his neck, and yawned.

“You need to take a shower,” said Donna as she floated into the kitchen in her favourite purple dressing gown. “Did Rose say when she was going to be home?” 

“Dunno,” he answered vaguely, gingerly pressing his eyelids closed. _Ouch._ Bad idea. He kept them shut, wincing as he waited for his much-abused tear ducts to do their job. “I haven’t seen her.”

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I heard her talking to you just now.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, giving himself a surreptitious sniff before proceeding to feel his way upstairs to the bath.

—–

Rose was determined not to let it bother her, which meant that it did - all bloody day. Her lectures flew in one ear and out the other, and she spent the entirety of her shift after Uni at Henrik’s fuming as she folded men’s polos.

So when she walked into the house and bumped into John feeling his way down the stairs, she opted to repay the favour by attempting to brush past him without a word. For some reason, though, he chose to greet her.

“Hi. Donna was looking for you. Your programme’s about to start-”

“Oh,” she said with an edge to her voice, “You’re talking to me now?”

His brow furrowed. “Beg your pardon?

Rose turned, temper flaring, and gave him her most frigid glare - the one her mate Mickey used to say made her look just like her mum.

Donna poked her head into the alcove, saying, "Rose! You’re just in time, Eastenders is on in five-” she cut off, catching sight of Rose’s expression. “Yikes. What’d you do, Doc?”

“Nothing,” John said, instinctively.

“What did he do?” she asked again, this time to Rose.

“Nothing,” he insisted.

“You know what, nevermind - I’ll be in the living room,” Donna said, retreating as the Eastenders’ theme song began to play. “You two hash it out amongst yourselves.”

Rose snapped, “Oh, forget it!” and stomped her way up to her bedroom.

Donna sighed and turned off the telly.

“You,” she said to John, pointing a finger at him, “-need to learn to play nice with others.”

“I am nice!”

“What on earth did you do?”

“I don’t know!”

He stood at the foot of the stairs in bewilderment as Donna went up and knocked on Rose’s bedroom door. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged, shaking her head.

“C'mon,” said the redhead, tugging at Rose’s hand. “You get something to eat, and we’ll sort this out. I’ll make John explain everything, you’ll understand.”

—–

Everyone congregated in the kitchen this time. Donna went to speak to John and dragged him out of his room. She pushed him into the kitchen, jabbing him in the back whilst repeatedly making her _go on_ face.

Rose thought, _here we go._

He looked - there was no other word for it - chagrined. With a heavy dose of embarrassment on the side.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” John said loudly, as Rose poured herself a bowl of cereal - there was nothing else to eat and being angry had made her very hungry. She was decidedly not looking at him. He faltered. “I have- a condition.”

There was no response, but she set the jug of milk down at his words.

John went on, “It’s called nocturnal lagophthalmos, and millions of people around the world suffer from it! It’s hereditary, I s'pose that means one of my ancestors had it too, no idea who though- I’m quite fortunate in that I only experience it occasionally-“

"It’s bloody creepy, it is,” Donna put in.

“I can’t help it,” John muttered plaintively. “I’ve been very stressed lately, and you know that triggers it!”

Rose looked back and forth between the two of them.“What are you talking about?”

“He sleeps with his eyes open,” said Donna.

“I sleep with my eyes open,” said John, in unison.

“Not all the time,” he amended. “Just… every now and then, when I’m particularly tired, or if my eyes are under a lot of strain…” he trailed off meaningfully. “I must’ve dozed off while working.”

As excuses went, it was incredibly far-fetched. Rose said skeptically, “For real?”

“It’s true,” said Donna, poking him again, this time in the ribs, “Show her.”

“How am I supposed to show her? I can’t sleep on demand!” He turned his bleary eyes back to Rose, and awkwardly entreated, “Listen, I- if I’ve hurt your feelings… it wasn’t intentional. I’m very sorry.”

“That’s… very hard to believe,” she said.

Donna snorted. “Tell me about it. He used to scare the crap out of me when I first moved in - don’t even deny it, you did it on purpose! You used to sit there and pretend you were sleeping and _smile_ -”

It was John’s turn to jab her in the ribs, which she didn’t like, and responded in kind - with rather more force than before. He coughed.

“I promise it’s true,” said Donna. “He might be rude, sometimes, but he’s not _that_ rude.”

“Oh, thanks,” John grumbled. “That’s helpful.”

It sort of was, though, because Rose’s mouth twitched, just a teensy little bit.

(She still wasn’t sure, though.)


	7. Chapter 7

In the morning, Rose came downstairs with a printout in her hand. John was sitting at the table with his laptop, squinting at the screen, and Donna was chatting his ear off, as usual.

She presented the paper to him.

“What’s that?” Donna asked, peering across the table at it. “Ha!”

“What is it? I can’t see.”

“It’s a WebMD page on your nocturnal lagowhatsis.” Donna snickered. “When in doubt, go to the internet?” 

“Something like that,” said Rose, while John grimaced in the face of her distrust. “I found some blinking exercises you can do to help with it - have you tried?”

“Yes,” he sighed, sounding forlorn. “It doesn’t work. The real problem is that I can’t see, which makes it worse. Anyway, I’m going to the optometrist today.”

“At last,” said Donna. “Hallelujah! I can finally get a good night’s sleep - all week you’ve woken me up with the sound of your thrashing about all over the house, bumping into _everything_ , half the plates are smashed to bits-”

“It wasn’t that bad,” John grumbled.

“You broke a mug just now.”

“You could’ve helped me!”

“How are you going to get to the optometrist?” Rose interjected, before their squabble got too far out of hand. She regarded John doubtfully. “How _have_ you been getting around in your state?”

“He hasn’t,” Donna supplied wryly.

Rose was taken aback. It took a few seconds for her to realise what that implied. Guiltily, she asked, “You mean to say you’ve not left the house since… since I…?” She swallowed- _since I broke your glasses?_

“It’s not a big deal-” he assured her, “My course load is light this semester, I’m a teaching assistant - courses just started so not much grading to do yet.”

“How many fingers?” Rose demanded suddenly.

“What?”

“How many fingers am I holding up? Quickly.”

“… four?”

“Blind as a bat,” said Donna, shaking her head sadly as Rose lowered her pointer finger in dismay. She excused herself next, swanning off to meet a classmate for coffee.

Rose and John were left in the kitchen by themselves. An awkward silence descended.

“Er, well, I should be off, too, then. Eye doctor awaits and all.” He stood, and turned towards the door. Or what he thought might be the general vicinity of it.

“Wrong way,” said Rose.

“Ah, right, thanks.” He swivelled in the other direction.

“Um, that’s the stove-”

“Here?” He touched something solid and vaguely cold. The freezer? That couldn’t be right. It wasn’t supposed to be near the door at all. (Unless Donna had rearranged all the appliances in the house to mess with him - he wouldn’t put that past her, except she was lazy and the furniture was heavy.)

“You know what, I’ll go with you,” Rose said hastily, reaching for her keys.

“No, no, there’s no need-” He fumbled for his jacket and was confused when he picked up something that seemed rather small.

“That’s a dishrag.”

“Right, sorry, it’s the same colour as my coat… I think.”

“I’ll go with you, my class isn’t until four, I’ve got time.”

“But-”

“You’ll walk straight into traffic,” she said, shaking her head, “Come on.”

Rose grabbed his hand, much to his surprise, and led him out the door.

“Bus?” she asked.

He nodded, flustered by the feeling of her small fingers gripping his own. Her palm was distractingly soft. Rose didn’t let go of his hand until their bus came. They boarded and sat together in the back, side by side.

It was very kind of her to accompany him. Rather unexpected, too, considering not more than ten hours ago she had been so very upset at him.

“It’s on Richardson Avenue? That’s, what, five stops from here?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem,” she said.

“Sorry- again.”

“Don’t be sorry. S'okay.” She huffed out a loud breath. “Maybe I was being oversensitive-”

“No, you weren’t-”

“But I’m glad it was just a big misunderstanding. Such a relief - it’s just plain depressing, y'know, thinking someone hates you and not being able to figure out why!”

“I don’t hate you,” he said automatically.

“Good.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. He wished he could see it.

“You’ve got a cut on your knuckle,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. He felt her fingers on his palm again, gently turning his hand over to get a closer look at it.

“I broke a mug this morning. Doesn’t hurt a bit.”

“And the bruise on your forehead there?” Something grazed his face, ruffling his fringe ever so slightly. Was she touching his hair? He couldn’t quite tell. It was an odd feeling.

“Banged it against a cupboard,” he admitted sheepishly. “That one did hurt quite a bit.”

“All banged up you are,” she clucked her tongue. “It’s tough, isn’t it, not being able to see?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he said fervently.

“Sorry about breaking your glasses,” she said in a meek voice, touching his arm.

“Sorry for-”

“Oh, let’s not start that again,” she interrupted, laughing lightly. “We’ll be apologizing to one another all day at this rate.”

“Forgive and forget?”

“Best do,” she agreed.

“Friends?”

“Friends,” Rose agreed again, warmly, as the bus rolled up to their stop.

—–

“You look very smart,” the optician said in an approving tone, just over an hour later. “Very smart indeed.”

“Let me see,” said Rose, standing on her tiptoes behind him, trying to look over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror.

John turned to face her, brand new specs resting on his nose-

She made a little humming sound, part pleasure, part surprise. “Oooh, that’s lovely. Proper brainy.”

He blinked. For the first time since they’d met, he could see her face clearly. Rose seemed to realise this, too.

“Hello,” she said, with a cheerful little wave and a big toothy grin. The intensity of that smile hit him like a sack of bricks, right to the gut.

“Hello,” he replied, somewhat dazed.


	8. Chapter 8

John was in a great mood when he woke up.

Being able to see was _brilliant_.

He greeted Rose with an emphatic _Good Morning, How Are You, What A Fine Job You Did With Your Makeup Today, I Can See Every Pore, Ah! You’ve Got None!_ (She laughed.) _  
_

To Donna, who padded into the kitchen at that exact moment, wild-haired and bleary-eyed, he said: _What A Lovely Dress It Really Brings Out The Colour Of Your Eyes - The Exact Shade Of A Bucket Of Slime._ (She laughed again.)

Donna, on the other hand, threw a slipper at him. “Very funny - tell me, how many fingers?“ she asked, holding up a closed fist.

"Haha.”

“How about now?”

“Donna!” he mock-gasped, as Rose snickered her way out the front door.

Maybe he shouldn’t have teased, though. Donna always gave as good as she got, and she knew all his weaknesses. After Rose left she looked at him, her eyes sparkling, like some sort of vindicated therapist or deranged cupid, instantly putting him on alert.

“No,” he said.

“I haven’t said a word!”

“You’re planning to - I can see it in your eyes.”

“I was right, wasn’t I? She’s awfully pretty, isn’t she?”

“-Don’t you dare make this weird.”

“Ha! Please, if anyone’s gonna be weird, it’ll be you.”

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“We’ll see,” she hummed under her breath. “You should get a haircut,” she added abruptly, eyeing his head. “Maybe sideburns?”

“Why sideburns?”

“Rose thinks they make blokes more handsome.”

He was definitely not getting a haircut, sideburns or otherwise.

“You’ll regret it when you’re eighty and alone in this house, thinking back to your youth, when you had two beautiful, intelligent, courageous young women living day and night by your side -”

“I might vomit-”

“-both of whom are way out of your league, and one would stab you in your creepy zombie sleep before she let you touch her with a ten-foot pole-”

“Likewise!”

“-but not even giving it a go, is that the sort of coward you want to remember yourself as?”  

John thought he might’ve have sprained something from rolling his eyes so hard.

Donna wouldn’t let it go. “Seriously though, I reckon you might actually stand a chance with this one. She was _ever_ so upset when she thought you didn’t like her, we talked about it for _ages_ -”

“Eh?”

“-I mean, why would it matter, if she didn’t - you know?” Donna waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Then she added thoughtfully, “It’s a wonder seeing you in your altogether didn’t put her off, really.”

He did lose some sleep after that. So it was _entirely_ Donna’s fault that things got weird.

—–

Then again, it might have been his own fault that things got weird.

He was in the middle of setting up an experiment in his usual haunt- the kitchen - when Rose walked in, wearing a rather nice (and snug) pink sundress under a fluffy cardigan. She’d been gone since early that morning, saying something about going for brunch with her family, who had come down from London to visit.

“Blimey,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “That smells foul! What on earth is it?”

He burned his hand over the bunsen burner and yelped. Rose was by his side in an instant, seizing his palm and tutting. She pulled him over to the sink and turned on the tap before thrusting his hand under the cold water.

“Ta,” he said, throat going dry.

“S’not badly burnt,” she murmured, head bent, peering at the red blotch on his knuckles. “What are you doing with that thing?”

“Experiment,” he muttered, unable to help himself from breathing in deeply - her shampoo smelled like flowers. It was heady.

“I’ll pick up some burn ointment from the pharmacy after I see my mum,” Rose promised. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he said, to preserve his manly image. She ran the tip of her finger over the affected area and he almost jumped out of his skin - though perhaps not for the reason she assumed.

“That- that tickled,” he said, unconvincingly.

Rose laughed, and let go. “Kay - you’ll live, then, I reckon. Try not to burn the house down while I’m gone. I’m fond of this place.”

That gave him a warm feeling in his chest. His brain told the rest of his body to _shut that down straight away_ , but of course it didn’t listen.

“I won’t,” he said. “Don’t- er, don’t forget the burn cream - please.”

“You gonna kick me out if I do?” Rose joked, giving him that - that smile of hers again.

It did funny things to his stomach and made him suddenly hot under the collar. He could see Donna’s smirk in his mind, taunting him. Pretending he hadn’t noticed the flash of tongue that peeked out between her teeth, he shrugged.

“Hey,” she said, nervousness flittering over her face, “You’re supposed to say no.”

“Look,” he took a breath, fumbling awkwardly for the right words, “I’m not… you definitely don’t have to worry about me taking that key back or anything. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as…” He shrugged, indicating with a wave of his hand some unknown, undetermined period of time. “But I want to make one thing clear.”

“Okay,” she said, looking at him suspiciously. “I’m listening.”

He did have a habit of moving his mouth when he ought not to. What came out next was - _well_. Donna had a word for it, but it didn’t bear repeating.

He babbled, “I don’t know what Donna’s told you, but… I don’t do relationships. I mean - of the romantic persuasion. I’m just not interested in that sort of thing. Not that you aren’t, you’re very, no, that’s not what I mean, it hasn’t got anything to do with that… it’d just be for the best if you didn’t entertain the idea… or… or anything, um…”

He trailed off, seeing her expression. They stared at one another in heavy, trickling silence.

—–

“You are so stupid,” Donna said affectionately, upon wringing the whole story from him later on.


	9. Chapter 9

“She’s not offended,” Donna told him, shaking her head. “She _is_ stunned, though, by your astonishingly large ego.”

John winced, recalling how Rose had reacted to his rambling declaration of intended solitude - with startled incredulity, followed by a slowly uttered, “Wow, you’re seriously- you think I-?”

Not his finest hour, and as was becoming scarily regular, Rose had been witness to it. 

He didn’t know why, to be honest. He’d never struggled so much speaking to a girl before. Rose Tyler was kryptonite, she was adamantium, she was all the superhero weaknesses rolled into one. 

(Not that he thought of himself as a superhero; unless there was a superhero whose superpower was the extraordinary ability to stick his foot into his mouth on a regular basis, then yes, that was him all over, from the moon and back.)

He briefly considered not leaving his room for a couple of years whilst wondering gloomily if looking up a recipe for a memory-altering drug on the internet was a possibility. Not for her, no - that would be wrong. He’d use it on himself.

“What were you thinking?” asked Donna.

“You said-”

“What did I say!”

“You implied that she… _you know_ … and I just wanted to make sure she didn’t misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand _what_?”

He didn’t reply.

“Let me get this straight,” Donna said sarcastically, “You _thought_ I said she _might_ fancy you, and you figured you’d, what? Make sure she never would?”

He looked away, rubbing his neck.

Donna’s eyes narrowed, studying his uncomfortable countenance. She seemed to spot something under the misery and humiliation - something that made her shake her head more forcefully. Then she asked, disbelievingly- “Is this about Martha?”

He took his time to answer, a tight knot forming in his gut as he did so. 

“Well… I didn’t want what happened before to happen again. I was a coward and let Martha think…” He shrugged, helpless. “You were there, you know what happened… She got hurt in the end.”

He’d driven her away. There was no excuse for what he’d done, last time - he’d ignored the situation, hoping it would go away if he pretended it didn’t exist, and had broken the heart of their former flatmate. The worst part wasn’t the vacancy in the house that had come as a result of his cowardice… it was the loss of a dear friend.

He hadn’t wanted a repeat of that with Rose. The very thought had panicked him, spurred him into taking - in retrospect - rather unwise action.

Donna looked at him, hard, and then sighed deeply, unclasping her arms from her chest. “You’re an idiot.” 

But her tone had softened. “It’s my fault for teasing you, I suppose. I should’ve known you’d get twitchy and do something embarrassing.”

She sat with a thump on the bed, crushing his papers without concern. “We are going to have a long talk about finding a happy medium between leading someone on and letting someone down - _gently_.”

She punched him in the arm, and shot him a meaningful look. “Rose isn’t bothered. You didn’t hurt her feelings. You’re lucky there.”

—–

Despite Donna’s assurances that she would talk to Rose and that she was certain it would blow over eventually - “Just don’t say anything stupid to her again, ever!” - John still felt the need to hide. Considering his track record with Rose it was the only solution, and the best way to take Donna’s advice, he felt, was to keep his mouth shut entirely.

He somehow managed to avoid Rose with a modicum of success for several days. It couldn’t last forever, though, and she eventually cornered him at the bottom of the stairs.

He’d been trying to sneak out early for a coffee and a doughnut and perhaps a little bit of wallowing in self-pity and self-hatred… the Sunday usual, really. He needed the coffee, too, quite badly. Stress had brought his lagophthalmos back with a vengeance, and the soreness of his eyes made it difficult to sleep through the night.

Rose looked him up and down before asking without precursor, “You really meant it - all that stuff from before? About relationships and stuff?”

He nodded apprehensively, and accepted the fact that there was no escape from this inevitable reckoning. What she said next, though, took him by surprise.

“That’s good, because I absolutely agree.”

He swallowed. “You… you do?”

“Yes, so there’s no need to worry. You’re completely safe from me,” she said, her face serious (minus the smirk that threatened to emerge on the corner of her mouth for a split second, but surely he’d just imagined that?), “Absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent safe.”

“What?”

“I’ve sworn off blokes.”

John blinked. “Have you?”

“Yes. You’re all lying, cheating, emotionally-retarded arseholes, and I’m never getting involved with another single one of you ever again.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, you’re right, it’d be a terrible idea.”

“I am?”

“I mean, we live together-”

“We do-”

“I don’t fancy moving again,” Rose made a face. “Not worth it.”

“Right.”

“And I don’t fancy you,” she added.

“Right,” he repeated, not sure what else to say. “That’s- that’s good.”

“Yep.”

“…”

“So we’re good, right?”

“… Yes. We’re good.”

Rose seemed satisfied. “Great. Now move all your crap out of the kitchen so I can cook something - that’s _gotta_ be insanitary.”

A satsuma was shortly flung at his head. She was laughing at him, John realised, with a jolt of relief to the gut. It seemed too good to be true. He found himself inexplicably inundated with a sense of confliction - one he couldn’t explain.

This was a good thing, right? She wasn’t offended or hurt. She was agreeing with him, on all accounts.

Yeah. This was a good thing.


	10. Chapter 10

_Sunday 7:40 AM_

“If I ask you to come along to the shops,” Rose said, hand on her hip, “Are you going to freak out and try to preemptively break up with me?“

"No!” he said, aghast, and perhaps a smidgen more loudly than was necessary.

Rose raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, sure,” he said awkwardly. “I’ll come with.”

He wondered exactly what this was all about. Rose had ambushed him in the stairwell, fully dressed, shopping bags dangling from both hands. She tossed him one of the bags, the strawberry printed one, and opened the front door.

“OK, but just for the record, this isn’t a date.“

"I _know._ ”

“I still don’t fancy you.”

John fought to keep himself expressionless, and willed himself not to go red in the face. He was never going to hear the end of it. “Alright, alright.”

“I do fancy Yorkshire pudding, though,” said Rose, leading the way to market.

—–

_Sunday 8:33 AM_

“I didn’t know you could even get chips before ten in the morning on a Sunday,” said John in wonder, staring at his own newspaper-wrapped bundle. “That’s marvelous, that is!”

—–

_Sunday 9:57 AM_

Donna barged into the kitchen, looking like she’d lived through a passing tornado. “What are the two of you doing up at this ungodly hour on a Sunday morning? I am trying to sleep!”

“Making Sunday Roast,” said Rose with a big grin.

John, who was rummaging in the fridge, poked his head out from behind the freezer door and echoed cheerfully, “Making Sunday Roast!”

“Why?”

“Cos it’s Sunday,” said Rose.

“Because it’s Sunday!” said John, triumphantly lifting a bag of frozen potatoes from the depths of the freezer.

She stared at them. “Friends again, are you?”

John coughed, looking sheepish, and ducked behind the freezer door again.

“Yep,” said Rose, taking the bag of potatoes from him. “We’ve agreed that there will be no fraternising within the house. It’s for the best.”

“Riiiiight.” Donna yawned. “Great. Keep it down, alright? Some of us would like to sleep until a reasonable hour-”

“Late night?”

_“Ugh.”_

“Code for hungover,” John said, and mouthed the words _bad date_ behind Donna’s back as she went back to bed.

—–

_Sunday 10:35 AM_

“Blimey, this is bigger than it looked at the shops,” Rose said as she generously seasoned the uncooked roast.

It took two pairs of hands to turn the slab of beef over so that she could get all the sides covered in salt and pepper - the butcher had been generous, especially after Rose had dazzled him with that smile of hers.

“That’s quite a lot of salt,” John commented, watching her.

“It needs a heavy hand,” Rose said confidently. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this loads of times. We always have Sunday Roast at my house, it’s a family tradition.“

“I trust you,” said John. “I’ll get started on the Yorkshire pudding, shall I?”

“Help me get this into the oven first,” she instructed.

—–

_Sunday 11:33 AM_

“Oh, shite-” gasped Rose, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“What?”

“I forgot to sear the roast in the pan before we put it in the oven!”

“Is that important?”

“I dunno,” Rose confessed, staring at the oven window in doubt. “I suppose it’ll cook just fine… it won’t look as nice.”

“All that matters is how it tastes,” John assured her.

“You’re right.”

—–

_Sunday 12:40 PM_

"Is it supposed to take this long to cook?”

“Yes… I think so… it was a pretty big cut of meat.”

—–

_Sunday 1:54 PM_

“You’re _still_ not done cooking?”

Donna was back up again, looking vaguely less hungover than before.

“Almost,” said Rose, flustered.

“Er,” said John, opening the oven door, “I think we have a problem-”

—–

_Sunday 2:30 PM_

Donna held out her mobile, trying her hardest not to laugh. “I’ve got Ianto on the line, ask him what you should do with… with that.”

John snatched the phone from her, making sure Rose was still in the loo.

“Can you show me what you’ve got?” his friend asked mildly, “Take a photo and text it to me.”

John did as he was told, and waited eagerly.

There was silence down the line.

“Oh… well… that’s a bit… wow.”

—–

_Sunday 2:55 PM_

“I reckon we can… sort of shave off the burnt bits and we’ll be okay, don’t you think?”

It was better than sitting dejectedly at the kitchen table, staring at a crispy lump in between them.

“The inside’s all uncooked!” Rose exclaimed in dismay once they’d done it. She faltered for a moment, and then brightened again. “Oh, but now we can sear this bit properly, and stick it back in with your pudding!”

“Good idea,” said John encouragingly.

—–

_Sunday 3:10 PM_

Searing meat in a hot oily pan proved to be _very_ difficult.

“It’s burnt again!”

“Nevermind - we can just shave it down again.”

Rose frowned. “Yes, but this pan won’t do - it’s impossible to manage.”

John snapped his fingers, an exciting thought occurring to him. “Bunsen burner!”

—–

_Sunday 6:45 PM, Nando’s_

“The important thing is,” said Donna, waving her fork at them, “You’ve grown closer, haven’t you? Think of it as a bonding experience.”

John chewed on his chicken and scratched his neck with his bandaged hand. As it turned out, searing beef over a Bunsen burner was not the wisest culinary choice.

Rose sighed.

“Cheer up, love,” said Donna, “There’s always next Sunday!”

John met Rose’s eyes over across the table - and they both laughed.

Yes, he thought happily as he shoveled mash and gravy into his mouth, there _was_ always next Sunday.


	11. Chapter 11

Mickey was waiting on the front step when Rose got home the day after the Sunday Roast debacle (which was never to be spoken of again among their circle). He was holding the backpack full of clothes she’d left behind from when she’d crashed on his sofa post screaming-breakup with Rat-Arse Twatface.

Almost two months had passed since then. She’d been so busy with school and work and flat hunting that she’d completely forgotten about it - until Mickey rang her up that morning, reminding her he still had her things in his tiny cramped flat.  

“Ta,” she said gratefully, giving him a big hug. Mickey was, for all his faults and foibles, a true friend, one of her very oldest and best.

“S'alright,” he said, with a dismissive shrug. Easy-going, that was Mickey all over. “This your new place?” He eyed the front door, frowning slightly. “What’s that mean?”

He was referring to John’s plaque, the one that told visitors ‘IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, PULL TO OPEN’. He’d found it in a junk sale somewhere, years ago, and hanging it on the front door amused him.

“It’s my housemate’s. It’s from one of those old police boxes, I think it’s supposed to be funny.”

“It ain’t. Just sort of weird.”

“John’s a bit weird,” said Rose cheerfully.

The front door opened at that moment, and Donna stepped out. “Thought I heard your voice! Oh, who’s this?”

“Mickey Smith,” said Mickey, offering his hand. “Friend of Rose’s.”

Donna lifted an eyebrow.

“Just a friend,” said Rose.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mickey, pretending he was hurt. He wasn’t. Rose knew for a fact he was dating someone else, someone not Trish Delaney, someone quite special, in fact. He’d deny it if pressed, but she could tell he was as happy as a clam about the relationship.

“Donna Noble. Come in, come in,” Donna said, playing hostess. “We’ve got leftover chips and beer in the fridge!”

Mickey grinned. “Now, how could I say no to an offer like that?” He went after her willingly, “I’m parched, actually, a beer sounds great.”

Rose made to follow as well, but paused at the door. She looked over her shoulder, confused and unsure of what had made her stop in her tracks. There was nothing except the empty, quiet street, and the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves. Gripping her newly returned bag, she went inside, shaking off the weird feeling.

—-

It began as a vague, ticklish sensation on the back of her neck, as though the little hairs there were standing up of their own accord. Rose couldn’t quite figure out why. She chose to ignore it, but as the week went on it became stronger and stronger. Eventually she was able to put a name to the feeling, and sort of wished she hadn’t -

It felt like someone was watching her.

What was odd was that it happened mostly inside or around the house - when she turned off her lights to go to bed at night, for instance, something niggled at her until she got up to peer through the window at the dark street below. There was nothing, of course, except for the sound of the wind and distant traffic and the slinking tail of a small cat creeping through a neighbour’s fence. She thought she saw a figure disappear just beyond the curb, but it was difficult to distinguish one shadow from another in the dark and Rose couldn’t be sure she’d seen anything at all.

When she left the house in the morning, invisible eyes seemed to track her movements, making her hurry down the front walk until she reached the bus stop, where the feeling would dissipate.

Shivering as she boarded her bus, Rose told herself not to be a ninny, and to get on with her day.

—–

“I could’ve sworn I closed this window last night,” said John later that evening, scratching his head. He stood by the kitchen sink, looking puzzled.

“You left it open to let the fumes out,” Donna replied. “From your ‘experiment’. My scarf still smells like sulfur, thank you very much!”

“I’m certain I came back out to close it after you two went to bed,” said John. “By the way, did either of you notice anything odd, last night?”

“What d'you mean, odd?” asked Rose, somewhat anxiously.

“Something kept waking me up,” said John.

“What?”

“I dunno,” he replied, his brows furrowing. “It’s hard to explain…”

“Thunder?”

John hesitated.

“What, you’re afraid of storms now?” Donna teased. “Did you hide under your bed?”

“No, it wasn’t the rain.” John ignored her jibe. “I… dunno, it was like something was in the house. Moving about. I thought it might’ve been an animal of some sort, the neighbours’ cat, perhaps-”

“Well, maybe it was, if you left the window open.” Donna shrugged.

“Maybe,” said John, but he glanced again at the window, his expression uneasy.

Rose thought, _it isn’t just me, then_ , and felt a flicker of relief.

—–

Rose heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs in the middle of the night and woke immediately.

It wasn’t odd in and of itself. John regularly had to use the loo at strange hours, especially when he was grading papers after midnight and had imbibed multiple refills of coffee in order to stay awake. What was odd was that the tread sounded wrong - light, cautious, as if whoever was there didn’t want anyone to wake up from the noise. John did attempt the same thing out of courtesy to his sleeping housemates, of course, but his footsteps had a completely different sound and Rose had grown to recognize them.

She opened her eyes and waited several seconds. The toilet flushed. It was just John. It had to be. She closed her eyes again, annoyed at herself for being paranoid, and tried to go back to sleep.

Something thumped against the wall. Rose went still, listening closely under the covers. Had John tripped? Hurt himself?

She screwed up the courage to slide out of bed to investigate. Opening her door a crack, Rose saw a tall figure standing on the landing. It was John.

Rose sighed and relaxed slightly - until she saw his expression. He was looking at the loo, his eyes wide. She looked, too, turning her head, and felt her stomach lurch.

The bathroom door was shut.

“You heard that too?” he whispered.

Rose nodded, heart racing in her chest. “Is it-” she looked at Donna’s door. It was also closed.

“Could be,” John replied very softly, taking the last few steps up. He crept silently forward, gesturing for Rose to stay back.

“On the count of three,” he whispered again, hand on the doorknob. “Stay behind me-”

She nodded again, thinking of the day she’d moved in and how she’d discovered John sleeping like the dead. She wondered why it was always the bloody bathroom.

“One, two, three-”

He pulled.

The door to Donna’s room slammed open suddenly, the sound as loud as a shot in the quietness. Rose screamed, clutching the back of John’s t-shirt. He yelped, staggering backwards as she effectively strangled him.

“Oi!”

Donna glared at them, light spilling from behind her as she emerged into the hall, looking extremely cross. “What’s going on?”

Rose slapped a hand over her mouth, still holding onto John, who reached out and slapped the light switch on in the bathroom. It was empty.


	12. Chapter 12

Everyone went back to bed after a thorough sweep of the house at John’s insistence. He’d been convinced there was someone lurking about, either a burglar or a murderer, but no signs of invasion were to be found. Needless to say sleep didn’t come easily after that, and it was restless at best.

They held an emergency house conference in the kitchen the next day (also at John’s insistence).

“I didn’t hear anything,” Donna said, shaking her head. 

“You could sleep through a hurricane,” John pointed out. “You always miss these things! I’m telling you, someone was in the loo! Rose heard it too, didn’t you?”

“Someone definitely used the toilet,” Rose confirmed. “I heard it flush.”

“What kind of burglar,” said Donna, “-would use the loo and make enough noise to wake the whole house up? And why would anyone want to burgle _us_?”

“Someone who didn’t care if they woke up the whole house,” said John morbidly, his eyes glinting. “Someone who knew it wouldn’t matter because they’d shortly be silencing whoever was in the house anyway-”

Donna glared at him, interrupting with a derisive, “Don’t be so daft! You’re scaring Rose!”

“I’m not scared,” Rose said quickly. “I’m sure I heard footsteps, though- on the stairs. I mean, before John came up.”

John slapped the table with his open palm, vindicated. “See!”

“But the door was closed, and no one was inside…” she trailed off into silence. “The window was shut, too.”

It was unlikely that anyone could’ve fit through the tiny bathroom window, anyway - and even if they could, it was the second floor. Not a long drop, but still substantial, especially with no nearby trees or bushes to break the fall.

“Not possible,” said John slowly.

Donna shook her head again, and opened her mouth to say something, but at that precise moment her mobile abruptly began to ring. The shrill sound made them all jump. Rose gripped the table, barely managing to suppress a little scream that had risen from the back of her throat.

“Come off it, you’re starting to scare _me_ now -” Donna complained as she answered her phone. John and Rose exchanged mildly sheepish looks as she finished the call. 

“That was Ianto,” she said afterwards, “He’s invited us all ‘round to his flat for dinner.” 

John muttered, “Good,” which was a shared sentiment between the three of them. No one spoke the words aloud, but they all felt secretly glad to get out of the house - even if only for the evening.

—–

“Hello,” said the sweater-clad, smartly dressed young man who opened the door to flat number three. He beamed widely at his three guests. “Welcome! You’re right on time, I was just about to get the roast out of the oven-" 

A mouthwatering smell wafted out into the hallway, making Rose’s stomach rumble with anticipation. Ianto Jones, friend, pet-owner, and talented amateur chef, ushered them into his home. 

"Can I use your loo?” John asked urgently. “Sorry, I’m quite desperate-”

Donna rolled her eyes, but Rose couldn’t blame him. She didn’t particularly fancy using their washroom, either, and thought she’d have a turn, too, after he was done.

“Of course,” said their host graciously. John slid gratefully past him, making a beeline for the first door to the left. 

Ianto looked back at the girls, “Ah, erm, Rose, is it? Rose, could you close the door behind you? My cat has a tendency to-”

A streak of grey fur brushed against Rose’s ankle as she stepped over the threshold-

“…to escape when given the opportunity. Oh dear,” said Ianto. “He’ll be on the roof in a minute if I don’t go after him-”

Something dinged inside the flat, a timer. Ianto wrung his hands, clearly distressed. “The roast!”

“I’ll get him!” said Rose, spinning on her heel. “Don’t worry, I’m great with cats!”

“Thank you!” Ianto called anxiously after her.

Rose ran up the steps after the cat, cursing her decision to wear heeled boots. They went well with her outfit - especially the Union Jack tee she’d recently recovered from Mickey - but weren’t so great for running in. Ianto’s cat was fast - within twenty seconds it had slipped through the propped-open door at the top of the stairs, marked EMERGENCY EXIT - ROOF.

Giving chase around a chimney spoke and a set of weather worn patio furniture, Rose managed to snag the little creature by the hind legs before it zipped further across the roof.

“Gotcha!” she cried triumphantly, lifting the cat to her chest. It meowed once loudly, and wriggled a little bit before giving up the ghost and settled down, pawing at Rose’s collar.

“Blimey, you’re quick,” she told it, stroking the top of it’s head. “And gorgeous to boot. Aren’t you? Yes you are, you’re a beautiful boy!”

The cat purred, enjoying the attention. Rose was so caught up in petting it that she almost didn’t hear the sound of the roof door groaning.

She whirled around, all the hairs on her arms and neck standing on end. That feeling of being watched returned in full force, making her stomach clench.

“Who’s there?” she said sharply, loudly. Nevermind the tremble in her voice.

She went forward slowly with cat in arms, and jiggled the door handle. It was locked. The brick that had been holding the exit open was nowhere to be seen.

_Don’t panic_ , she told herself. _Call John._

“Hang on,” she said to the kitty, and shifted it about to reach into her jacket pocket for her mobile. She dialled John’s number, but there was no answer. She tried Donna next - still no answer.

A sudden movement out of the corner of her eye caught Rose’s attention. It was the patio lounger in the corner by the chimneys, partially shielded from sight by old blankets.

Something was under the covers.

Rose went still, her blood running ice cold in her veins.

_It’s probably just another cat_ , she thought, _definitely just a cat, or a dog, or… or…_

The blankets were suddenly thrust off whatever was underneath. Terror filled Rose, so much so that she found herself unable to scream, nerveless fingers tightening on Ianto’s cat, who began to yowl indignantly-

“Hey, hey, what’s all the fuss, Owen? It’s just me!”

Rose stared, mouth open, as a man sat up on the lounger, fingers running through his hair and straightening his coat collar.

A very blue pair of eyes, set in a rather handsome face, looked back at her. A cigarette was dropped from the chiseled mouth that lay under a straight nose and sharp cheekbones. His lips quirked into a wide, friendly smile, one that took Rose quite by surprise.

“Hi there,” was uttered in an American accent, of all things. “Sorry, did I scare you?”


	13. Chapter 13

John started to think he’d better go look for Rose after fifteen minutes had passed and she’d not returned. He was coming up the stairs when the door to the emergency roof exit burst open - someone had kicked it down, breaking the lock. That same someone said over his broad shoulder, “All clear, darling - we’re free!”

“Rose!” John exclaimed. “What happened?”

“We got locked out,” said Rose, slipping past the tall man, Ianto’s cat in her arms. “This is Jack - he came to my rescue.” She smiled up at her knight in shining armor.

John thought, _I was coming to your rescue_ , but bit back the words. 

“Jack Harkness,” said the bloke pleasantly, extending his hand. He had an american accent and looked like a Calvin Klein model - John mistrusted him immediately.

“John Smith.”

Jack turned out to be Ianto’s downstairs neighbour, and he, too, had been invited to the dinner party. He’d been having a smoke and a kip on the roof when Rose and Owen appeared.

“You were sleeping out in the open?” John asked, skeptical. “A bit cold for that, isn’t it?”

“I find the fresh air invigorating,” replied Jack easily, with a white smile.

“Thank god for that,” said Rose. “John and Donna weren’t answering their phones, I don’t know how long I might’ve been trapped out in the cold if you hadn’t been there!”

“I was on my way up,” John said, opting not to mention he’d left his mobile at home (and that Donna’s battery had gone dead, at the worst possible moment).

Rose shrugged it off. “Well, still, thank you.”

“Anytime. It’s not everyday I get to play hero,” said Jack, winking at her.

Rose blushed, and John fought back the urge to reiterate that he’d been halfway up the stairs, and that he was pretty good at jimmying locks, due to a tendency to lose his keys. Not exactly a skill set to be bragging about.

Ianto was pleased to have his pet back, and very pleased to see Jack had made his entrance. He apologized profusely to Rose, fussed over her cold hands and pink cheeks, and finally sat everyone down at the dining table.

“No harm done,” said Rose, waving it off. And then with a hint of envy she added, “This is delicious.”

Ianto leaned across the table. "The secret is in the gravy,” he said confidingly.

“It’s very good,” John agreed.

Their host said eagerly, “You know, it’s Sunday tomorrow- if you two fancy giving it another go, I could come over and walk you through it!”

He looked so excited at the prospect, neither Rose nor John had the heart to refuse.

“You must come ‘round, too,” Donna said to Jack. “To enjoy the fruits of their labour!”

“Can I?”

“Yes, come!” said Rose.

So it was decided that Jack would be invited to supper, much to John’s disgruntlement. He ate the rest of his dinner in gloomy silence as Rose, Donna and Ianto took turns hanging on Harkness’s every word. It was disgusting and almost put him off his food - except that he hadn’t eaten all day and was very hungry.

“Kettle’s on in the kitchen, John, if you’d like some tea,” Ianto offered, as John finished eating first and got up to clear his plate.

“Thanks, mate.”

A few minutes later, Donna wandered in, putting her own plate in the sink.

“He’s gorgeous, ain’t he?” she said dreamily as she joined him at the stove.

John choked on his tea. “What? Who? Harkness? Really?”

“Yes, did you not see his face?”

“His face?”

“Yes, his face, though I wouldn’t blame you if you were looking elsewhere.” Donna leered. There was no other word for it. He felt like gagging.

“What’s so great about his face? He’s all chin and jaw and chiseled cheekbones. I mean, really, it’s just too much face, isn’t it? He’s just a big… a big fat face!”

“Oh, whoa there, what a zinger, you really know how to insult a man-”

“You know what I mean!”

“That smile, though,” Donna went on, ignoring his outburst. “I’d get locked on the roof with him anyday!”

“Speaking of which,” John began heatedly, “Don’t you think it’s a bit of a coincidence that he just happened to be there? And his excuse was flimsy - napping my arse, I’ll bet twenty quid he planned it-”

“Planned _what_?” Donna shot back. “How could he have known the cat would bolt up the stairs?”

“It’s still fishy.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Why on earth would I be jealous? You’re welcome to him, like I care who you… who you want to shag!”

“Not because of me, dumbo,” said Donna. He looked at her blankly, and she snorted. “Must be tough, eh? He’s wicked good looking, he’s got a nicer coat, and his hair is better than yours.”

John gaped at her. He opened and closed his mouth speechlessly several times.

Donna eyed Jack, who sitting on the settee with Ianto and Rose on either side of him, both listening with rapt attention to some story he was telling. She said, “D'you think he goes for redheads, or is he strictly a blondes-only sort of bloke?”

John stood. “That’s it, I’m leaving. I’m going home. Goodbye.”

Jack looked up, having overheard this last bit. He stood, too. “Leaving already? I’ll walk you guys home - that roast was delicious, Ianto, but it’s going straight to my gut if I don’t work it off.”

“Oh, yes please!” said Donna, dashing over to take his arm. He’d meant it for Rose, probably, but didn’t falter a bit. Jack flashed his brilliant smile at Donna, and they led the way out after thanking Ianto for his hospitality.

“I’m sorry,” John said, as he and Rose followed. “For not remembering to bring my phone, I mean.”

He really meant it, and hoped she knew. Rose smiled. She linked her arm with his in the same way as Jack and Donna, and said, “Alright, I forgive you.”

“Looking forward to Sunday Roast, tomorrow?” he asked, trying to keep his arm loose, casual, unaffected by her proximity.

Rose sighed. “Whatever happened to never speaking of it again?”


	14. Chapter 14

Jack wished them goodnight at their door, and said he’d better hurry back and give Ianto a hand with the washing up. With a charming smile and a salute he was off. 

( _Who did that?_ John wondered in disgust, _who actually saluted when they said goodbye?_ )

“What a specimen!” Donna declared.

Rose, too, was watching him go with a wistful expression. After a moment she said sadly, “I’ve sworn off men.”

John snorted, and quickly hid it with a fake cough. He wasn’t sure the girls were convinced, but they didn’t call him out on it.

“Right, I’ll just leave you two here to drool, shall I? Make sure you mop it up, we don’t want our midnight visitor to slip on a puddle and break a hip!”

He retired to his bedroom after delivering this parting blow, and was in the middle of taking off his shirt to get ready for bed when there came identical shocked cries from the floor above. 

—–

“Not in the mood for cooking tips today, I’m afraid,” Donna said, opening the front door to let Ianto in.

“Why ever not?” He lowered his shopping bags, looking crestfallen. His tone changed when he took in the three baleful expressions that greeted him. “What happened? You all look like you haven’t slept a wink!”

“Someone broke into the house when we were over at your flat,” John explained, taking off his glasses to clean them on his shirt. He glanced at Rose, who was sitting on the sofa and looking very tired and very pale. “Rose’s pillows were slashed.” 

Both bedrooms had been in a state of terrible disarray, but Rose had definitely received the brunt of the abuse. 

Ianto clapped a hand over his mouth. “You’re joking!”

“Nope. We’ve been up all night sorting it out.” Donna pointed to the mass of tangled jewelry on the coffee table. “Even my necklaces are knotted together! It’s a bloody headache, I tell you!”

Ianto looked very troubled at the news. Staggered, he sat down next to Rose, and went even paler than she.

“No one was hurt,” John reassured him, concerned by his reaction. “It’s- well, it’s not alright, but we’re okay. For now.” 

This didn’t seem to make him feel any better. In fact, it made him go white as a sheet. Finally, he said, “No… it’s just that… well, I’ve got a confession to make.”

John frowned at him. 

“In the summer, when you wanted me to move in with you,” Ianto began haltingly, with the air of someone making a confession, “The reason I was so hesitant and chose to live on my own instead was because-” He swallowed. “I was in the exact same situation as Rose.”

Donna whipped her head up from her necklaces. “What?!”

“I never told you because I thought it was _me_. But now I know it’s this house.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s this house’?” John demanded. “And what situation?”

“Strange things… I felt like I was being followed… the time I parked just up the street my car tires were slashed…”

“You never said a word!” Donna cried.

“We need to call the police,” said John, shaking his head. “This is getting out of hand.”

“There’s no point,” said Ianto, looking directly at Donna. He shivered.

She returned his look, with an sharp intake of breath. “You don’t mean…”

“I do,” said Ianto apologetically.

“What?” 

“There’s only one explanation,” said Donna, “-that can explain all of this.”

_“What??”_

“Poltergeist,” said Donna.

There was silence in the room, and then John said, “Let me get this straight-” He paused, searching for the right words, “You don’t think it’s conceivable that someone might have broken into our home to burgle-slash-murder us, but you think it’s a possibility that we’re being haunted by a supernatural force bent on ransacking our rooms and using our loo in the middle of the night?”

“Yes,” said Donna firmly. “All the signs point towards it, right, Ianto?”

“I’m afraid so,” Ianto agreed, looking solemn. “All the classic symptoms of a haunting are present. Unexplainable sounds and disruptive activity after sundown-” (he nodded towards the bathroom), “The feeling that one is being watched,” (he glanced at Rose), “And movement or destruction of objects and belongings… you’ve got everything.”

Donna nodded grimly, meeting Rose’s wide-eyed gaze. “You’ve attracted a spirit, somehow.”

Rose swallowed. “I have?”

“Rose,” said John beseechingly, “Not you, too!”

“Can I see what the damage looks like?” Ianto asked, as John stared incredulously at everyone.  

Donna nodded. “We’ve sorted it out mostly, but my closet’s still a mess - fancy helping me out?”

“Er… alright,” said Ianto dubiously, following her up the stairs.

John turned to Rose. “Rose, I have something I want to ask you.”

“Yeah?”

“Your ex,” he met her gaze, all seriousness, “Does he still contact you?”

Rose shook her head. “You think he’s doing this?”

“I don’t know, but it seems to me that you’re the main target.”

“It’s… not Jimmy’s style,” she said slowly. “He isn’t jealous… in fact, he’s the opposite. He loses interest easily… so I can’t picture him stalking me or anything like that.”

“What’s more likely,” John argued, “A jealous ex wreaking havoc, or a _ghost_?”

Rose sighed. He was right, of course, but she still wasn’t convinced this was the work of Jimmy Stone, who hadn’t looked back even once after ditching her and leaving her in debt. Their relationship hadn’t lasted long, and in retrospect she knew now she’d been foolish to agree to moving in with him. He was a bastard and a con artist, absolutely, but breaking into the house, destroying her bedding and locking her on the roof? It just didn’t wash.

John gave her a determined, assuring look. “We’re calling the police if anything else happens. I’m going to go to sleep for a few hours - but I’ll be staying awake to keep guard tonight. If Jimmy shows up, he’ll have to get through me first.”

Rose blinked at him in surprise. A warm feeling spread from her stomach to her face as she absorbed his words, and she could only describe it as gratitude. John was sweet, sometimes, when she least expected it, and she was glad to be sharing a house with him.

When she told him so and thanked him, he went all pink in the face. Scared as she was, she still found it adorable.


	15. Chapter 15

John slept days and woke nights to no avail for almost a week. Even for a night owl like himself, these inverted hours were starting to become bothersome and unhealthy - he was human, after all, and humans needed a little daylight, a little kiss of vitamin D on their skin each day in order to feel, well, human.

On that fateful morning John was in the kitchen by himself, attempting to stay awake in order to get some work done. He struggled manfully, but at last succumbed to the wiles of eyes-wide-open sleep shortly after noon.

And while he was sleeping, someone came boldly into the house through the kitchen window. 

—-

The individual in question had done it before, with the aid of a lock picking kit, and had become so adept at it that they made little to no noise. He regarded John, and then leaned in close, somewhat fascinated.

“Creepy, that is.” A hand waved itself across John’s face. No movement. “Bloody creepy.” The intruder leaned in further, his own face very close to John’s. “Bizarre. You poor sod.”

With a snicker, the intruder moved on to the stairs. He was going to find it today, definitely. He’d scour the house if he had to, maybe mess up that girl’s bed again, just for laughs. Once he found it, he’d be OK.

He was halfway up the steps, lost in his own plans, when a voice called out from behind him, “Where do you think you’re going?”

A blow to the back of the knee sent the intruder sprawling across the stairs. Hands grasped his legs and yanked, dragging him bodily downwards until he was flat on his face on the floor. A heavy weight settled on his back, digging into his kidneys.

“Gotcha,” said John.

The intruder fought him in panic, struggling to break free. A knee stomped down more heavily into his side, making him howl with pain.

“Donna,” said John into his mobile, whilst maintaining an iron grip on his prisoner, “You’d better come home. I’ve caught your ghost.”

Fifteen minutes later, Donna burst in with Rose in tow. She stopped short in the doorway, staring in disbelief at the sight of John sitting on a bloke.

Recognition filled her face, and she exclaimed shrilly, “ _Lance_?”

—–

It _was_ an ex-boyfriend, as John had suspected, but not the one he’d thought it might be.

Lance Bennett had been Donna’s beau for a solid six months about a year ago. They’d met while doing a part-time internship at H.C. Clements. He was a graduate business student and Donna had been absolutely in love with him.

Then, suddenly, they broke up. She’d come home one night from a date, livid, her fancy dress drenched from walking home barefoot in the rain, heels in her hands. She’d flat-out refused to tell John what had happened. He’d found out weeks later that Donna had caught Lance cheating on her on their sixth month anniversary.

Donna changed her number, and John intercepted all the calls to the house, telling Lance in no uncertain terms that Donna did not want to see him and that he had better stop bothering her. Recalling those phone calls made John’s blood boil, and he knew he’d have to keep a careful eye out just in case. Some threats were made, both ways. The calls stopped after that, and John assumed Lance had given up and moved on.

Apparently not.

John called the police during the time it took for his housemates to get home.

“But what did I ever do to you?” Rose asked, completely shocked. “I don’t even know you!”

Lance didn’t reply. He glared at them from a kitchen stool, hands tied together behind his back with an old scarf. Donna was still in a state of shock, but John could see the rage building up inside her. She’d boil over any minute, he knew.

He started putting two and two together. “When did you say it started, Rose? The feeling you’d get, that you were being watched?”

“Recently,” she said, thinking back. “The day Mickey came around with my things, I think, after I introduced him to Donna…”

“And your room was trashed the night Jack walked with us home, with Donna on his arm,” he commented. “Notice a pattern?”

Rose was dumbfounded, and John couldn’t blame her. Jealousy rarely made sense, and it often made people do irrational, insane things. Lance had treated Donna horrendously… but still felt entitled to her… didn’t want her seeing anyone else. Another reason to avoid relationships, in his opinion. Messy.

“The postings you put up on campus that were torn down, remember those?” John directed his comment at Donna, “That was him. Also spooking Ianto off so he wouldn’t move in here - really, that was completely pointless, Ianto’s not interested in Donna at all.”

“This is bonkers,” muttered Rose.

John nodded in agreement. “I still can’t _believe_ you used the toilet. That was just… I don’t know whether to call it overconfidence or plain stupidity.”

Lance looked sulkily away and spoke for the first time. “I’d had a smoothie right before I broke in and couldn’t hold it. Forgot I wasn’t at home.”

“How’d you manage that, anyway?” Rose asked, “You… disappeared, we were right there, the door was closed!”

“Slipped past under your nose,” he sneered, “While you were panicking and choking him.”

His tone seemed to jolt Donna out of her state of stupefaction.

“Thanks for lifting the toilet seat,” she snapped, drawing herself to her full height in front of her ex, casting a shadow over him. She seemed to have recovered her voice, and was in full, ferocious, sardonic mode. “Appreciate that, guess you’ve learned some manners since we broke up!”

Lance tried to keep his face expressionless, but the tight clenching of his jaw gave his nervousness away.

“This is what you were after, wasn’t it?” Donna held up a thin gold chain, from which dangled an old fashioned-looking locket set with a single ruby stone. “Your nan’s old necklace.” She shook it in his face, just out of reach. “That’s why you went through my jewelry box! I thought it was odd that nothing was stolen - you were looking for this!” 

Oh, she was riled up now. “Bad enough that you’re a cheat, now you’re also a thief? Breaking and entering your new hobby, is it? Where’s that slag of a cousin of yours? Too busy sleeping with other people’s boyfriends to come stalking with ya?!”

A tiny, horrified gasp came from Rose. John, to whom this was also brand new information, felt accordingly sick.

“That’s right, his _cousin_!” Donna spat.

“We’re not blood-related,” Lance interjected weakly, but Donna rode roughshod over him.

“Yeah, that makes it perfectly alright, you useless piece of rubbish, what happened, your nan asked for her necklace back? Didn’t want to tell her you were too cheap to buy a girl a present so you stole her locket and gave it away?”

“You know, this is what I always couldn’t stand about you,” Lance said, going red in the face. “It’s just nonstop, never-ending _blabber_!

John readied himself to hold Donna back. But the effort wasn’t needed. Instead, there came a knock on the door as Donna, eyes narrowing, let the necklace drop from her hand onto the floor. In slow motion, she lifted her foot. Lance’s face went slack, horror filling his features.

The constable who was let in was greeted by the sound of a loud crunching noise and a cry of ‘Nooooooooo!’ that echoed through the entire house. 


	16. Chapter 16

_Sunday Again, 7:01 AM_

“Ianto… what are you doing here so early?”

“I’ve just been to Farmer’s Market - always go early on Sundays for the best produce, you know - and I thought I’d drop by and see how Donna’s getting on.”

“Sleeping soundly somewhere in Chiswick after a night of star-gazing in the hills with her Gramps. She’s fine, in fact she’s beyond thrilled to get to press charges against Lance. _And_ she filed for a restraining order. She even made the constable call his grandmother.”

“Was she very upset with him?”

“His grandmother? She threatened to beat him with her cane for being an embarrassment to the family. Feisty lady.”

“So Donna’s alright?”

“She’s perfectly alright. All’s well that ends well, as they say.”

“Brilliant! I was thinking, now that this is all resolved, we could have a proper Sunday Roast!”

“That’s a kind thought, mate, but I’m beyond exhausted. We talked to the police for ages and afterwards Donna insisted on opening two bottles of wine to celebrate having successfully made Lance break down and cry in front of Scotland Yard’s finest-”

“-I really think it would cheer Rose up, John. She’s had a rough time-”

“- _I’m_ having a rough time right now, I haven’t slept properly in days, totally knackered-”

“-It’ll cheer you up, too!”

“… oh… alright, fine. Come on in, then. I’ll go wake up Rose, shall I?”

—–

_Sunday, 9:40 AM_

“Now that the roast is in the oven,” Ianto said happily, “It’s time to start on dessert! We’re making my favourite - Spotted Dick!”

“Yum,” said John, with little emotion.

Rose yawned. Ianto did not seem to notice the lack of enthusiasm from either of his cooking partners.

—–

_Sunday, 10:01 AM_

“Now, I want you to get your hands in there and really rub it together.”

“Both of us?”

“No point in both of you getting your hands dirty,” Ianto said.

“I’ll do it,” said Rose.

“You’ve got to rub it harder,” Ianto told her. “Mix it well! It has to be thoroughly mixed or the spotted dick will be hard and lumpy!”

John snorted, but really seemed to lose his composure when she ran across the kitchen to dredge a large, gleaming metal whisk out of a drawer. He looked at Ianto, appalled, and even the seasoned home chef had to admit there was something unappetizing about the idea.

“You can’t use that.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t necessary. Nor traditional!”

“Oh, pish.”

“All the bits will just get stuck to it,” John pointed out reasonably, wincing a little.

Rose sighed and acquiesced, putting the whisk back in the drawer.

“Is this how you do it?” asked Rose.

“Yes, very good,” Ianto said encouragingly. “That’s a good technique you’ve got going there.”

“Is it?” Rose looked delighted.

“Yes! Brilliant! Perhaps rotate your hands a little bit, really massage it around, get a good rhythm going.”

“Blimey,” said John.

“Stir the custard, sir,” Ianto told him. “You’re very easily distracted, did you know?”

—–

_Sunday 10:37 AM_

“And now we wait!”

“Whilst keeping our expectations low,“ muttered John, under his breath. He wasn’t a fan of spotted dick, honestly.

—–

_Sunday 10:45 AM_

"You know, bears travel at thirty miles per hour,” John was saying - Ianto truly couldn’t remember how they got onto the topic of bears, much less their traveling speed, but it was interesting in an odd sort of way, plus they had at least an hour left to kill before the SD would be ready. “And there’s a zoo about thirty miles away from here. Which means a bear could be here in _one hour_.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Rose, to which Ianto found himself agreeing and nodding his head. She went on, stunning him, “What about traffic?”

As he struggled with the astounding logic of this rebuttal - how _would_ bears get on the motorway? - John scoffed.

“Bears don’t need to contend with traffic! They’re bears! They can cut through the park! Use the sidewalks!”

_That is true_ , Ianto thought. Would a bear not technically be classified as a pedestrian? It seemed unlikely that bears would recognize and adhere to traffic laws. He supposed one could mistake a large grizzly creature for a vehicle… but surely not!

“There’s other obstacles between the zoo and campus!” argued Rose.

“Like what?”

“Like construction. And… other wildlife.”

“What other wildlife?” John demanded, scattering his cards on the table. “Bears are at the top of the food chain. Well, no, I suppose _we_ are, but the point still stands.”

“Urban foxes,” Ianto suggested. “They are the devil incarnate.” (They are.)

“Yeah!” said Rose, nodding vigorously.

John shook his head. “They’re puny! Just the scent of a bear would throw them into a frenzy of fear and send them scrambling for the hills.”

“Really?” This was potentially useful information. There was a fairly intense… concentration of urban foxes near Ianto’s flat.

“Yes. But if you need a quick fix for an infestation, the way to go is with-” John paused, looked at Rose, lowered his voice, and confided to Ianto in an undertone, “Male urine.”

“Not in the kitchen,” Ianto replied.

John started to laugh.

—–

_Sunday 11:15 AM_

While they continued waiting for the pudding to steam, Rose went to collect a periodical from her bag and brought it back to the kitchen, brandishing it in front of the boys’ faces like an excited schoolgirl.

“What’s that?”

“A horoscope mag!” Rose informed them, perking up. “Ianto, when’s your birthday?”

Ianto replied, and Rose flipped through her magazine.

“You are an intensely instinctive and intuitive person,” she read in a dramatic voice. Very much in the manner of a gypsy, most excellent delivery. She could have an excellent career on the stage, in Ianto’s opinion. “There is, on the horizon, a tall, dark stranger.”

Ianto blushed.

—–

_Sunday 12:03 PM_

“Is it supposed to be all black at the top?”

"It’s burnt!”

"We should’ve put newspaper at the bottom of the pot before we put the bowl in,” Rose said, shaking her head regretfully. “That’s what Jamie does.”

John looked confused. “Who’s Jamie?”

“Oliver.”

“What?”

“Jamie Oliver,” Ianto explained. Seeing John’s continued mystified expression, he added, “He’s a celebrity chef.”

“Cute, rich, cooks well,” said Rose. “Mum loves him.”

“Everyone does,” Ianto agreed.

"Hmm.”

“We could scrape it off,” Rose suggested.

“That never works,” said John. (He was outvoted, regardless.)

—–

_Still Sunday, 2:17 PM_

“It’s quite good, still, for being charred at the top,” said Rose, taking a big bite. “Mmm. It’s very moist. You really ought to try it, John.”

“Yes, don’t be shy,” said Ianto encouragingly.

“No, no, I’m full from the roast. Couldn’t eat another bite!”

Rose took another big bite. “S'really good, Ianto. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

“Oh, cookbooks, telly, that sort of thing,” said Ianto modestly.

“That’s really impressive,” said Rose. She paused, mid-bite, frowning slightly. “Oh…” She blinked, lowering her fork. “I… I… oh god, owwwww-”

The fork fell out of her fingers, and both hands went to her stomach. She had gone white as a sheet, and was gasping as she clutched her side, as if in great pain.

John came around the table, alarmed. “Rose?”


	17. Chapter 17

John and Ianto rushed Rose to hospital, where she was subjected to a battery of tests - the doctor quizzed her on her medical history, prodded her repeatedly in the abdomen and finally ordered a blood test and an x-ray.

The whole process took hours, during which time Rose gritted her teeth against the pain and gripped John’s hand with a strength that he hardly would have ascribed to her. 

In the end, they sent her in to get her appendix removed. 

Surgery took two more hours.

John waited outside the operating room the entire time. At one point he nodded off for ten minutes or so, sat perfectly still with his hands clasped together in a position that was the very picture of devotion.

The nurse on duty was reminded of the day his daughter had been born, with complications, and was compelled to offer encouragement.

“It’s just an appendectomy” he said, whilst passing by to attend to another patient, “Your girlfriend will be just fine.”

There was no answer from John, which made the nurse shrug in sympathy - it was scary to think of your girlfriend/wife going under the surgeon’s knife, but the young woman would be out soon. Everything would be okay.

—–

“She’ll have to stay a night or two,” the surgeon said when he emerged. “We’d like to keep an eye on her.”

Rose was admitted into post-operative care. Ianto left the recovery ward to make some phone calls. When he returned, John was nodding off again. Ianto woke him with a mild shake to the shoulder.

“I’ve contacted Rose’s parents. They’ll be on their way soon, but they can’t drive into London until the morning.”

“Thanks, Ianto.”

John looked at his watch. “It’s getting late- you should go. I’ll stay until her parents get here.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, John.” Ianto said it with the sort of smile that Donna sometimes gave him; the same smile that made John feel like a beetle under a magnifying glass, being inspected and seen through.

He ignored it, and checked on Rose again, making sure she was still sleeping peacefully in her bed. She was.

—–

“Sweetheart, you’re awake!”

Rose opened her eyes, which felt like lead weights, and was disoriented by the brightness of the lights in the room. She blinked, and her mum’s face appeared above her, coming into focus.

For a moment she was confused by the unfamiliar surroundings - and she remembered. _Right. Hospital._

“Mum?” she croaked.

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s mum.”

The sound of her voice comforted Rose, but also made her feel like a small child again. She’d very much wanted her mum, even with John holding her hand and being a lovely pillar of support throughout the scary run-up to surgery. It wasn’t the same, though, was it? A girl wanted her mum at times like this, didn’t she?

“Oh, you poor thing,” said Jackie, with a bit of a sob. “Does it hurt very much, love? How do you feel?”

Her lips were parched and her side felt strangely raw and numb at the same time. And she was groggy beyond belief, but otherwise… “I’m alright.”

Jackie said tearily, gripping Rose’s hand, “I’m sorry, love, we couldn’t get here until after you’d had your surgery - it was impossible to find a sitter for Tony at last minute, and he’s running a fever too. Imagine, both my children getting ill at once! It’s a mother’s worst nightmare!”

Rose swallowed, wincing at the soreness that was beginning to make itself known in her side. “Is Tony okay?”

“He’s fine, sweetheart,” Jackie said, brushing the hair off Rose’s forehead, “Don’t you worry about anyone but yourself, love. Your father’s speaking to the doctor, he’ll come up to see you in a bit.”

“Okay, Mum.”

“I’ll be right back, I’ll go let the nurse and your boyfriend know you’re awake - why didn’t you tell me about him, love? I do wonder where he went… he ought to be around here somewhere… haven’t laid eyes on him yet, myself, but the nurse tells me he sat with you all night…” her voice became distant as she left the room.

“Okay, Mum,” Rose said again, closing her eyes.

Ten seconds later, she opened them again, puzzled.

_Boyfriend?_

—–

John splashed water on his face and dried it with a piece of paper towel that felt like it was a close cousin of sandpaper. He put his glasses back on and left the men’s lavatory, heading back to the recovery ward where Rose had been moved after her operation.

“Your girlfriend’s awake,” the friendly sandy-haired nurse told him with a smile.

“Er-,” said John, wondering if he should correct the misapprehension, and deciding it didn’t particularly matter. He nodded his thanks to Nurse Williams and went into the hospital room.

“Rose?”

She was sitting up in bed, looking pale but otherwise as normal as someone who had recently had an organ removed could look. There was another person in the room, a woman in her forties, whose blonde hair and petite build strongly resembled Rose.

“Hello,” he said, a bit nervously, because it was obvious who this was.

“Hello,” said the woman. “You must be John - nice to meet you. I’m Rose’s mum.”

He shook her offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Tyler.”

“Oh, call me Jackie, darling. Thank you for taking care of Rose, I heard you brought her into the hospital and stayed with her all night- that was very good of you.”

“No need for thanks, it’s what anyone would do,” said John, feeling his ears go pink. Jackie Tyler was smiling very warmly at him. She seemed very interested in looking him over, from head to toe, and the scrutiny made him feel a bit self-conscious.

“Thanks, John,” echoed Rose, in a weak voice.

“S'alright,” he said awkwardly.

“You’re very handsome,” said Jackie, still shaking his hand. “So _tall_ \- how tall are you?”

“6'1,” he replied, not sure how to respond. “Um. Thank you.”

“How did you two meet?”

“Mum,” said Rose, rolling her eyes. She seemed rather agitated, nervous almost. “Stop it.”

“Er, through Donna, I suppose,” said John, because it would be rude not to answer the question. And technically, Donna _had_ been the one to bring Rose into their house. “She’s our other-”

“-friend! Mum, you haven’t met Donna yet, have you? She’s my housemate, the one I told you about.”

“I’m sure she’s lovely,” said Jackie, and turned back to John to say, “How long have you two been dating, dear?”

“Eh?”

Rose looked horrified. “Mum!”

“Pardon?”

Jackie repeated the question, but it still didn’t make sense. John frowned.

“Oh, we’re not…” He began, but paused mid-sentence in confusion. Rose was shaking her head frantically behind Jackie, as if to signal to him to stop talking. John didn’t understand and went on, “We’re just-”

“-Two months,” Rose blurted suddenly, cutting him off.

_What?_


	18. Chapter 18

Rose was _miserable._

Her side was aching something fierce, but it was nothing compared to the absolute humiliation and regret of having been caught in a terrible, terrible lie. John was probably thinking the worst about her, and he’d be right to.

“Sorry,” she said in a hushed voice. It was just the two of them now. Mum had left the room in search of her father. 

She regarded John from the bed, wondering if the shock of what had just happened had turned him mute. He hadn’t said a word since she’d blatantly fibbed about the nature of their relationship.

“Don’t apologize,” said John slowly. 

Okay. Okay. That was… good. He was speaking again.

“I’d rather you explain what’s going on,” he added bluntly, dispelling any relief she might have felt. Rose winced. Where to begin? 

She inhaled deeply. “The nurse told her you were my boyfriend.”

“I figured.” He paused. “And you didn’t correct him because…?”

God, there was just _no way_ out of this. 

“Mumdoesn'tknowthatwelivetogether,” Rose said in a rush, admitting the truth out loud at last. “She- she thinks I only have one housemate… a _female_ housemate, I mean.”

She waited for John’s reaction with bated breath. (Which was sort of a good thing - at that moment, every inhalation felt like a flaming torch being shoved into her wound.)

“Oh,” was all he said. 

It wasn’t mum who was the problem, really. It was dad, who was overly protective of his only daughter and would flip out if he discovered she was cohabiting with a boy. Knowing her parents would never allow her to share a flat with someone who possessed a -Y chromosome, she’d lied, and now it had come back to bite her in the arse.

“My dad…” she couldn’t hold back another wince, “He wouldn’t like it, if he knew.”

“Ah,” said John.

“I know it’s not fair to ask you to…,” Rose continued, “But I really like living with you, and with Donna, and… and I just…”

“You’d have to move out if your dad discovered the truth?”

“Reckon so,” she said glumly.

“What about,” he paused again, choosing his words carefully. “-Jimmy? I take it they didn’t know about him?”

No, she’d never told them about Jimmy. She’d lied to her parents in an act of childish defiance, hadn’t listened to the warnings about Rat-Arsed Twat-Face that everyone around her had given her, and had gone on hiding the truth. 

“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend.” He stated it plainly, his tone devoid of emotion. 

The throbbing pain was getting worse. Rose ignored it, let her shoulders slump dejectedly, and did something she wasn’t proud of. She lowered her lashes, let her bottom lip tremble a bit, and looked up at John’s bemused face.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.

(Mickey had always been weak to it. He always succumbed, of course, and would grumble afterwards, “ _Flutterin’ your eyes at me, you know you’re gonna get your way, don’t you, and here’s me falling for it every time!_ ”)  

She thought it might not work on John. He’d made it clear, hadn’t he, that he wasn’t interested in girls or relationships.

He didn’t respond right away, and Rose thought, _oh well,_ but then he surprised her. He sighed once, shrugged, and said, “Alright.”

Her mouth fell open. “ _Really?”_

“Yeah.”

“You’ll go along with it? B-but you’re always so dead set against dating and anything like t-that-”

“We’re only _pretending,_ so it’s fine,” John muttered, looking embarrassed, "I don’t want you to move, either.” Quickly, he added, “It’s difficult, you know, to find people to live with, who are… well… you know.”

“Y-yeah,” she said, thinking of Rat-Arsed Twat-Face and inhaling deeply to gather enough energy to add, “I know what y-you mean, John.”

“Are you sure?”

John scowled. “Are you trying to change my mind?”

“No!” she cried, and immediately regretted it - the pain intensified like mad, making her cringe.

“Rose?” He frowned. "You’re gasping for air - what’s the matter?”

It was getting difficult to speak. She managed to say, “H-hurts.” 

John’s frown deepened, and he demanded in an almost angry tone, "Why didn’t you say anything? How bad is it? How long has it been getting worse?”

“J-just now-”

“I’ll go get find a nurse,” he said, getting to his feet. “It’ll just be a mo, Rose, hold on-”

—–

Rose was duly given an increased dose of painkillers, which provided her some relief. She was told to rest, and dutifully followed those orders, barely managing to say hello to her father and assure him she was perfectly alright before succumbing to sleep.

John was left to face both Pete and Jackie Tyler by himself.

It was a disaster.

Jackie was unabashedly nosy about their ‘relationship’ and was very keen on asking him all sorts of questions that made him break out into a cold sweat. He dodged them where he could, and stuck to the truth as much as possible.

Pete, on the other hand…

Pete led him out of the hospital room and pointed to a bench in the corridor. “Have a seat, son.”

John sat while Pete stood over him, staring holes into the top of his head. John supposed it was his right, as a father, to instill the fear of God and handheld rifles into any boyfriend of Roses’ - that was only fair. He understood. He’d promised to play along. There hadn’t been a choice, really.

“Tell me bout yourself, John.”

Oh bloody hell, he’d made the wrong choice. He’d absolutely made the wrong choice and there was no getting out of it now.

“About myself, sir?”

“You’re a student?”

“Graduate school, sir, I’m a chemistry major.”

“You like it?”

“Yes. Sir.”

“Arsenal?”

“What? I mean, pardon?”

“Do you support Arsenal?”

“Yes, sir,” said John, knowing that had something to do with sports. Definitely sports.

Pete nodded. Then he asked, “What sport does Arsenal play?”

He was a bloody mind reader, Pete.

“Football,” said John, going with his gut instinct.

“Good. And Wimbledon?”

Now he was just being insulted, really. “Tennis!”

“Do you follow it?” Pete demanded.

“… No?”

Rose’s father frowned.

“I mean yes!” said John hurriedly.

Pete stared at him, frowning even harder. Crap.

“What about vitamin drinks?”

“Huh?”

“Do you like vitamin water?”

Was this a trick question? Yes, of course it was, they all were. Cautiously, John replied, “… Yes?”

Pete smiled, slightly. A shiver ran down John’s spine. “Tell me, have you ever heard of Vitex?”


	19. Chapter 19

_Many, many hours, and many, many, many questions regarding fruit-flavoured drink preferences later-_

Sometime around seven, John managed to get away by offering to go pick up coffee and something to eat. As soon as he had the chance, he rang Donna and told her what had happened.

In her typical fashion, Donna was beyond unbearable about the circumstances when she was informed that 1) John was now Rose’s boyfriend and 2) he didn’t live with them and 3) he was the best boyfriend who had ever lived and she _had better_ help him convince Pete Tyler of that fact.

“This is the best,” she said over the phone, cackling her head off, “I’m loving this!” 

“Shut up,” groaned John.

“Was I the matchmaker? Was I?”

“Yes.”

“Course I was!”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“You must be joking! This is like something off the telly!” He was forced to endure a good ten minutes of laughter and ridicule until she finally said, “I’ll come by the hospital  to see Rose in a bit - gotta go, just got a text from Ianto.”

John sighed and hung up and was already halfway to the hospital ward with his takeaway bag in hand when he realised he’d forgot to get coffee. He was about to turn back out again when he saw a familiar looking blonde head careening down the hall in a hospital gown and slippers.

“Rose?”

What was she doing out of bed? As he wondered this, Rose approached, swaying on her feet. Her gaze seemed oddly unfocused, but a smile flittered over her face when she laid eyes on him.

“John,” she said, reaching out to him, “John, John, I was looking for youuuuu!”

“Why, what’s wrong-”

He broke off the rest of his sentence, dashing forward to catch Rose as she swayed again, this time decidedly towards the ground. Headfirst.

“Gotcha,” he said, seizing her about the waist.

“Hello!” Rose blinked dazedly up at him and lifted both hands to his face, pressing his cheeks. She giggled. "Hello John!”

“Hello,” he said, a bad feeling in his gut. Her pupils were blown wide and she was unsteady on her feet.

Nurse Williams came running around the corner, shouting, “Rose! You should not be out of bed!”

“Nononononooo,” Rose said frantically, squeezing John’s face, “Don’t let him get me!”

“Who?”

“The cat man!” she moaned in terror, twisting in his grasp and craning her neck to see over her shoulder. Immediately, Rose turned and burrowed her face into John’s shirt, trembling.

“The _what_?”

“Do not let her go!”

As he drew near, it became clear to John what she was talking about. Nurse Williams was wearing blue scrubs covered in kitty print, and someone had stuck little cat head stickers on his forehead and jaw. He huffed, “You’re far too fast for someone who just had surgery!”

John stared.

“Six-year-old in the next room, fond of kittens,” said the nurse exasperatedly as he tried to pry Rose away from John. She clung on tightly, one hand gripping at his ear rather painfully.

John demanded with a wince, “What’s the matter with Rose? What have you done to her?”

“We haven’t done anything to her!” Nurse Williams exclaimed, looking extremely harassed. He soon gave up. “She’s sensitive to the pain medication we’re giving her. Some people just react badly, for whatever reason. That’s why we started her on a lower dosage earlier-” The nurse sighed, peeling a sticker off his face. “Can you get her to go back to her room? She really shouldn’t be standing, much less running about!”

Rose moaned again and began to push away. John struggled to keep her from breaking free, which was a lot harder than it looked when she was all but hell bent on escaping.

“No!”

“Rose, c’mon-”

Nurse Williams seized her arm once more. She screamed. He let go immediately, hands in the air and red in the face, “Alright, _alright_.”

“I’ll take her back to her room,” said John.

“I’ll go see if someone can lend me a different top for the rest of my shift,” said Nurse Williams sardonically. “This one’s too frightening, it seems.”

He backed off, giving John space to gently take Rose by the arm and lead her back to her room. She resisted a bit, but he cajoled her, told her she needed to lie down, and that her parents would be worried. With the terrifying nurse keeping a careful five meters behind them, Rose relaxed slightly.

"Mum thinks you’re my boyfriend,” Rose drawled with a giggle, leaning heavily against him. “She thinks you’re fit, John!”

He did not know how to respond. “Er, thanks.”

“I think you’re fit, too, don’t I?“

He glanced down, startled and couldn’t help asking, "Do you? Really?”

“Yeeessssss,” she slurred, smiling dopily, “Buuuuut I don’t fancy you! Nope, not even a bit! Cos’ you don’t… you don’t like girls, and I respect that-”

“Well, I-”

“You smell good,” Rose said suddenly, ducking her head into his neck. He jumped, startled again, and tried to remember if he’d put on aftershave the previous day. She sniffed deeply, rubbing the tip of her nose along his skin, searching for the source of the good smell and tickling him.

“Mmm. Like chips.”

He almost laughed, despite the circumstances. Poor Rose. He patted her head. “I bought some nosh for your parents.”

“I want chips,” she said instantly.

A safe distance behind them, Nurse Williams called out, “No chips!”

“Dunno if you can have them, just right now,” John said apologetically, guiding her through the doorway of her room. He tucked her back into bed. “Sorry.”

“I want chips,” she repeated, stubbornly, refusing to lie back.

“John? Rose?” It was Donna’s voice.

He looked up, saw her standing in the doorway with Ianto behind her holding a cake box. His smile slipped from his face as they entered the room, and Jack bloody Harkness came into sight, a bouquet of roses in hand.

Incensed, John glared at Donna, who shrugged.

“So many visitors!” came another voice. Rose’s mum poked her head between Ianto and Jack, smiling. “Rose, are these your friends?”

Clearly she had no idea Rose had made a run for it. John tensed, wondering if Donna had told the others that he was supposed to be Rose’s boyfriend. Judging from the look on her face, he guessed she hadn’t.

A pair of hands suddenly grasped his face, turning it. Before he knew what was happening, Rose was pulling his head down towards her own, a glint in her unfocused eyes.

“Mmmf-!” was all he managed to say.


	20. Chapter 20

There was very little warning before it happened. He had no idea what was about to take place, or how long it would go on, or anything at all, really - because his mind had become a roaring blank.

Rose Tyler - his housemate, his friend, his _pretend girlfriend_ \- had put her mouth to his. On his. Their mouths were touching, definitely touching, in a way that was neither accidental or casual - she was, in fact, being very aggressive about it. She bit his lower lip, he yelped, and then- 

And then there was _tongue._

This startled him as much as the sudden snogging did. Rose had pushed her tongue _into his mouth_. She was making a sound that could be described most adeptly as a purr and became even more enthusiastic, sliding her fingers from his face into his hair. Her nails raked against his scalp, sending a flurry of shivers down his spine - something John didn't necessarily find unpleasant. His own hands, which had been on her shoulders, slowly drifted downwards to rest on her waist. She did something with her tongue that made him feel dizzy. Sort of like, like she was rolling her R’s except _inside his mouth_.

He hadn’t known such a thing was possible, he’d never known Rose could even roll her R’s, was she fluent in italian and he’d never been informed? Had she always been able to do it or was it a skill she’d acquired through practice? For that matter, could _he_ roll his R’s? He tried. Just to see.

Apparently he could. He must’ve done it well, or at least tolerably, because Rose made another noise, a kind of half sigh, half groan, and tightened her hold on his hair. She tasted sweet, a bit like chocolate, though he couldn’t remember her eating the stuff. Maybe that was just how Rose tasted, she _was_ sweet, after all; her smile always lit up the room like it was made of pure sunshine. He did notice, too, that she was very soft, all over, from her hair to her lips to her waist, and at every point of contact between their bodies as she pressed herself against him.

He did it again, rolled his tongue against hers. Just because. She gasped this time. Their lips parted for a fraction of a second, long enough for him to feel her hot breath against his cupid’s bow. It made his stomach feel all tingly and strange, and then she was kissing him again. Or rather, she was nipping at his mouth, as if exploring, as if she hadn’t already invaded and left him breathless. The tingling sensation in his belly bottomed out into an ache, like he was hungry. Not for food, no, nor drink, or anything he could name, except perhaps-

The sound of someone clearing their throat somehow penetrated the oasis of his thoughts. He blinked against the intrusion, disoriented, but Rose hadn’t noticed and was carrying on without compunction. He followed her lead, swept away by the feeling of her nails scraping against his neck, making him shudder, the physicality of it spreading across his skin like heat and lightning.

That irritating noise came again, more insistent this time, niggling at his conscience: _this isn’t right._ The thought jolted him, brought him back to reality.

It wasn’t his fault- it could have been ten seconds or ten minutes or ten hours before Rose would give in to letting go. Time seemed to have lost all meaning. Eventually, she wrenched herself away with a sigh.

John stared at her, stunned. Rose stared back at him, inches away, her pupils even more dilated than before, lips plump and rosy.

He couldn’t feel his face. _He could not feel his face._

“Oh my god.”

John barely heard the words. He barely heard anything. He couldn’t speak.

“Oh my god,” said Donna again, breaking the spell.

The room was silent. With great, dawning agony, John turned stiffly to see everyone still standing in the doorway.

Ianto’s eyes were as big as saucers, and Donna had her hand over her mouth in shock. Mrs. Tyler seemed at a loss for words, her cheeks pink. Jack Harkness was openly staring, his expression unfathomable.

John swallowed. He licked his lips, stomach roiling. He opened his mouth, nothing came out. He tried again, tried to remember how to form words.

For one face stood out among the rest, like a granite statue, unamused, unyielding. Pete had joined the fray and was standing next to his wife.

“It’s not what it looks like,” John croaked, at last able to produce sound. Wait. No. “I mean, it is what it looks like. It’s just not what you think. I mean, it is, but- but-” He looked desperately to Donna, but she had her face in her palms, shoulders shaking, and he knew she wasn’t going to be any help at all.

Pete’s mouth had flattened into a grim, straight line, and John still _could not feel his face._

In a fit of panic, he blurted out, “She’s high as a kite!”

No one said anything, except for Ianto, who stepped forward. His eyes had grown even wider, and there was genuine horror in his voice when he said, “Rose, oh my god, you’re bleeding!”

John turned, feeling as if he was underwater, his senses dulled. He looked down, past Rose’s swollen lips and pale cheeks, to the small, growing patch of red that blossomed on the bunched material of her hospital gown.

And then all hell broke loose.

(Again.)


	21. Chapter 21

Amidst the chaos that broke out, Nurse Williams pushed into the room, shouting for people to let him through. He was still wearing the same cat scrubs, which naturally resulted in Rose attempting to break free again. She was caught and returned to her bed, and everyone was told to leave the room.

(Jackie remained, mostly because Rose had her hand in a death grip and she wasn’t able to leave.)

John watched, dumbfounded, as another individual in hospital scrubs shoved past him into the room. “She’ll be alright,” he was told, right before the door slammed shut in his face. 

They stood in the cramped hallway in silence and John felt like he would pass out. Everyone was staring at him. Ianto and Jack conferred silently, Donna seemed unable to close her gaping mouth, and Pete - John didn’t dare look at him.

An agonizingly long time later (in reality it was probably about twenty minutes), Jackie emerged, shaking her head.

“Pulled her stitches,” she said to Pete, who stepped forward to give her a hug. “They’ve sedated her, to keep her from running-” Jackie caught sight of John over Pete’s shoulder. Her eyes softened and she let go of her husband to pat John’s arm in consolation. “Oh, you poor dear, you’re shaking like a leaf! Sit down-”

“But-”

“Rose is fine,” said Jackie, “Wasn’t your fault, love, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

She regarded him closely, as if afraid he might topple over. It was a distinct possibility - his legs felt like they were made of jello. And Pete was still staring at him.

—–

Three days later, Rose was released from hospital. She would have gone home sooner, if not for her attempted escape and resulting pulled stitches.

John held Rose’s hospital bag, feeling like he’d be exposed any minute as he followed Rose and her parents up to the house. He almost made the horrible mistake of pulling out his keys - force of habit - before remembering he wasn’t supposed to live here.

Pete and Jackie helped Rose up the stairs to her bedroom, John trailing behind them, and settled her in. Thankfully, he’d locked the door to his bedroom, and the Tylers didn’t seem like they particularly wanted a detailed tour. He saw them taking in the surroundings, but aside from one comment from Jackie - _bit small, but it seems cozy, doesn’t it, Pete?_ \- they appeared content with the quarters.

“You don’t have to stay,” Rose said anxiously, looking from her parents to John.

“We’ll only stay until Donna gets home,” Jackie promised, “We can’t leave you alone in your state!”

“I’m fine, mum!”

“We’ll leave when Donna arrives, like your mother said,” said Pete firmly, and Rose gave up.

As Jackie fussed over her daughter, Pete beckoned him to join him outside. John’s heart sank. He followed, footsteps heavy. He wondered if direct flights to Morocco were available at short notice. If he made a run for it right now, he could be packed and ready to leave before sunset and no one would be the wiser.

Much to his astonishment, however, Pete smiled warmly at him and said simply, “I just wanted to thank you, John. For taking care of Rose.”

John realised he was waiting for an answer. “Oh. Er, you’re welcome.”

Pete nodded. There was a pause.

“My pleasure,” John added.

“Right,” said Pete.

Another awkward silence followed. They regarded one another, until Pete finally said, “Goodnight, then.”

“Oh! Right- Goodnight,” said John, recalling (again) that he didn’t live here.

He turned to walk away, halted, looked back, saw Pete watching him, and saluted (Why? he wondered afterwards, why did he salute?) before heading down the front walk with absolutely no clue where he was going to go.

Three blocks seemed like a safe enough distance. There was a park there, a small one with an even smaller playground - if it could even be called that, with just two swings and a sandpit - and just his luck, completely abandoned. He sat on one of the swings, even though he was far too tall for it, and kicked at the gravel underfoot with the tip of his converse.

His mobile buzzed. A new text, from Rose.

_Sorry._

He replied with, **It’s fine.**

_Where are you?_

**Not far.**

_Outside?_

**Yep.**

_Sorry._

**Stop apologizing, Rose.**

The texts stopped coming after that, and John played on the swings for a good hour or so until his mobile buzzed again.

_Convinced them to go. Donna will be home in a few. Come back._

Rose was on the stairs when he opened the front door, clutching her side.

“What are you doing down here?” He was by her side in an instant, and held out his arm, “C’mon. Back to bed!”

Rose sighed and gave up on her show of bravado, wincing as she stepped forward, sliding her arm around his waist. Her hand rested gingerly on his hip bone, and he could feel the warmth of her fingertips straight through the fabric of his jeans.

Clearing his throat, he braced her against him and carefully helped her back up the steps. They didn’t speak as they made their way down the hall, Rose leaning against him, smelling faintly of shampoo and peanut butter.

John sat on the edge of her bed as she settled back under her blankets once more. Sleepily, she asked, “Where did you go?”

“The little park, down the road.” Because she looked so guilty, he added, “Played on the swings. No one was there, so it was great - didn’t have to fight off any small children for a turn.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Get some rest,” he said. “Does it still hurt?”

“No.” She was lying, of course.

“Did they give you anything to take?”

“Antibiotics, I think.”

Nothing for the pain, he supposed. Perhaps something over-the-counter, then, considering her violent reaction to the stronger stuff. A flush crawled over the back of his neck as he recalled what that reaction had entailed, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she remembered any of it. She hadn’t said a single word about the kiss and no one had spoken of it in her presence.

_She probably doesn’t remember,_ John thought with some measure of relief.

He stood to leave, and maybe he imagined it, but as he leaned over to turn off the lamp on her bedside table, Rose’s exhausted eyes flicked briefly to his mouth and then just as quickly away.


	22. Chapter 22

Rose was bored.

Recovering from having your appendix removed was more boring than painful. Three days in, she was heartily sick of staring at the four walls of her bedroom. Her pulled stitches had become infected - not severely, but enough to render her condemned to bed rest. Just to be on the safe side.

John and Donna had their own schedules to maintain, of course. And since she’d convinced her parents they didn’t need to keep coming to visit, Rose was left alone for the better part of each day. 

It was like being in _prison_.

At some point in the endless stretch of solitary confinement, her phone buzzed, denoting an incoming text. Rose seized it from the bedside table eagerly. There was, to her delight, a message from John.

**Are you asleep?**

_NO I AM SO BORED_

**I lent you those books for that very reason.**

_Those aren’t books, they’re sleep aids_

**Har har. Take a nap then.**

_I can’t_

_I’M TOO ITCHY!!!!_

**Don’t scratch.**

_I’M NOT!!!_

**Stop shouting, Rose.**

_But it itches!!!!_

_:(((((_

**Sorry, gotta go. I’ll see you later.**

With a sigh, she tossed her phone back down onto the table and resumed her staring contest with the ceiling. She was starting to droop off when another message came.

**Class over now.**

_Are you on your way home?_ As soon as she hit send, Rose cringed. As messages went, it was about as desperate and needy as one could get.

**Soon. Making a quick stop first.**

She wondered where he was going, and hoped it wouldn’t take too long.

**By the way, your mother rang me earlier today.**

Rose cringed again. _Sorry. I think she got your number from my phone._

**It’s not a problem.**

_What do you mean it isnt a problem?_

_Its a HUGE PROBLEM._

**She’s just worried about you. You won’t let her visit.**

_Thats for your sake!_

**Is it?**

_I don’t want you getting booted out of the house again, that’s all_

**Thanks.**

_Sorry,_ she wrote back, feeling lousy again about the big lie she’d dragged him into. It wasn’t fair on John.

**Nothing to be sorry for.**

On the contrary - she was pretty certain she had a whole lot to be sorry for - the whole thing was a farce, honestly, and didn’t bear speaking of.

And anyway, Rose was determined not to think about things she shouldn’t think about, definitely shouldn’t think about, things as far as everyone else was concerned she didn’t remember, John in particular. If only for the sake of her own sanity. And dignity. There wasn’t any point, was there? She’d done the thing, not on purpose (a little voice in her head said, _are you sure_ but she told it to shut up straight away), and there was no erasing that fact now. But it didn’t _mean_ anything (again, that pesky voice, reiterating its previous question, damnit); it absolutely _did not mean a thing_. As far as she was concerned, drugs were to blame, and as far as John was concerned, he was just a friend, helping a friend - she paused, there, realising that at some point he’d gone from being her somewhat wacky housemate to being a genuine mate, one whose company she truly enjoyed.

When had that happened? Rose wondered, with a tiny little lurch in her stomach.

A new message jolted her out of her thoughts. She hadn’t replied, she realised. Her stomach did another odd little flip upon reading his latest text:

**I like the park.**

A minute later: **OK, make that two stops.**

She resisted pestering him for details, likely he was running errands, he was very busy after all, and it wasn’t his fault she was bored out of her mind. She also resisted sending him the word HURRY in capslock repeatedly.

**Almost home!**

She couldn’t hold back the _YAY_ that her fingers typed out and hit send upon.

**I come bearing gifts.**

_What gifts?_

**:)**

The sound of the front door being opened made Rose sit up excitedly. At last, human contact!

“Johnnnnnnnn,” she shouted, not caring a whit that her voice was distinctly wheedling in tone.  

“Coming!” he shouted from the stairs.

She waited impatiently, calling for him more than a few times, and hearing the amusement in his voice as he replied back, telling her to hold on just a mo’.

A few minutes later he came into her room. A delicious smell wafted through the door with him, and Rose’s heart leapt in her chest.

John grinned, holding out the bag.

“Chips!”

“Not just chips,” he said, brandishing a dvd case from behind his back, the price sticker still stuck to it. The title read _Love Me Tender_ in bold cursive.

“Elvis!”

“Indeed.”

“You are the best fake boyfriend in the entire universe,” Rose announced fervently, without thinking. She cringed, waiting for the awkwardness to rain down on them from the slip of her tongue - god, how flippant had that sounded? She was such an idiot.

But John laughed - simply laughed - the tips of his ears going slightly pink; and helped her down to the living room.

He was great fun, John, once you got to know him. She could see now what Donna had meant about being fast friends with him - his sense of humour was wicked, though not at the expense of others, and he was so witty, throwing out sarcastic remarks as they watched Elvis on the telly, making her laugh so hard her sides ached - literally. The boredom of the day seemed like the distant past, and the evening went by so quickly it felt like she’d merely blinked and it was gone.

By the time the film ended, the chips were long gone and Rose was yawning so widely she thought she might’ve dislocated her jaw in the process. 

John grinned at her, raising one eyebrow. He drawled in perfect imitation of the King as he knelt, “You goin’ my way, doll?” 

Rose wrapped her arm around his neck. He lifted her to her feet, and she leaned against him, grinning back, “Is there any other way to go, Daddy-o?”


	23. Chapter 23

“This show is redundant,” John complained, scowling at the screen. “The same thing happened just last week!”

“Shush,” said Donna.

“But-”

“You can go into your room,” she said crabbily. “Why are you even here?”

John flicked his shoulder. “Rose isn’t here.”

“So?”

“She’s missing the broadcast,” he pointed out the obvious. Donna gave him a blank look.  “I said I’d watch and tell her what happens.” Defensively, he added, “What?”

“Nothing.” 

Donna turned back to the telly, smirking. It was _not_ nothing, but he knew better than to push the subject.

He glanced at his watch - it was going on seven now. Rose’s parents had picked her up from the house around mid-morning to get her stitches removed at the hospital.

She’d texted him to let him know they were taking her out for ice cream ( _‘John, am I six years old? Not complaining, tho-’_ ) and had sent another text with a selfie of herself eating a Festival bar ( _‘It’s melting - jealous?’_ ).

**I haven’t one of those since I was little,** he wrote back. **Someone just got shot on your show, by the way.  
**

_Again? Who??_

He snickered aloud, which made Donna glare at him.

**The same bloke as last week.**

_No way!_

Donna peered over his shoulder, taking a glimpse of his mobile screen, and rolled her eyes. “It’s a different character, you ninny, tell her it’s Andrea’s fiance.”

“How can you tell, when they look exactly alike?”

“They do not.”

“All the men on this show look like they just came from the semi-annual clearance sale at Henrik’s,” John said derisively. “Three of them wore the same black coat in the same scene! Look! That’s definitely the same checked shirt, I think Ianto has that shirt-”

“That’s rich, coming from you, Mister-I-wear-the-same-brown-jumper-everyday-”

“I don’t wear the same jumper everyday!”

“You might as well,” Donna snorted. “Rose has a Henrik’s employee discount, why don’t you ask her for help?”

“Help with what?”

“D’you want her parents to think her new boyfriendis a slob?”

“I am not a slob!” he retorted, outraged. Donna’s smirk grew wider, and he realised his mistake immediately. “I’m nother boyfriend, either!”

“Mhmm.”

—–

The Tylers dropped Rose off about an hour later.

“We’ve got to run,” said Jackie at the door, and much to John’s surprise, swooped in to kiss him on the cheek. “Baby-sitter’s in a hurry, and Tony will start fussing any minute if we’re late.”

“Drive safe, you two,” said Rose, taking John’s place.

Jackie bussed her on the forehead and patted her cheek. “Alright, love, and don’t forget about the party! See you on Sunday, John. Bye-bye!”

She turned and joined Pete in the car, waving from the passenger window as they drove off.

John waved back, and muttered, “Sunday?”

Rose shook her head. “It’s nothing, never mind.”

They headed inside, where Donna was preparing celebratory drinks and laying out a festive pink crown she’d found in a drawer, the last remnant of a particularly raucous New Year’s Party. She put it on Rose, who giggled, and they all toasted to never going to hospital ever again.

“Won’t be sporting a bikini to the beach this year,” she lamented jokingly.

“What, have you got a scar?”

“Of course!”

“Can we see?”

“Donna,” John chided, “That’s inappropriate!”

“Oh, please! It’s just an appendectomy scar! Loads of people have ‘em, what’s the big deal! Go on, show us!”

He didn’t crane his neck or anything, when Rose acquiesced and lifted her top to reveal the small, inch long cut on her belly, just above the waistband of her jeans. It was pink and slightly puckered, still quite a ways from fully healed.

“That’s nothing!” Donna proclaimed, looking to John for backup. “Bit sexy, really!”

As if. “It’s not bad at all,” he answered neutrally.

“S’not as if I was gonna wear a bikini anyway,” Rose sighed. “They started bringing in the seasonal stock at work - samples - and I snuck one into a changing room during my last shift. Blimey. Is it possible for breasts to shrink?”

Donna looked at Rose’s chest, and then at John.

“Er-” he began, distinctly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.

“Only if you lose weight,” Donna said. “Have you lost weight?”

“I think I’ve _gained_ weight,” Rose grumbled. “D’you know, I think this is why when I interviewed for a different department, they turned me down. Management took one look at Susie Perkins and forgot all about me and my pitiful little B’s. When he asked me what assets I thought I would bring I almost said ‘Well, a smaller set of boobs to the team for one, you toad!’ Can you imagine?”

Donna snorted. “ _Men._ John, you’re a bloke-”

“No-” he said quickly.

“Don’t deny it, I have my doubts sometimes, but you’re a bloke-”

“I am, yes, but I shan’t comment on your, erm, endowments. Which are neither too small nor too large-”

“Anyway, there’s always Wonderbras,” said Rose over his quickly delivered safety statement. She shrugged and took another sip of her wine. John wondered mildly if she ought to be drinking, seeing as she was still in recovery.

“Mm,” said Donna, downing the rest of her glass.

Much to his dismay, Rose turned her gaze to him. “Oh, but is it true some blokes consider them cheating?”

“What?”

“Wonderbras. Do you think it’s cheating?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“She means that some guys are _cretins_ who expect women to have these giant big melons on their chests and when they try to assist what mother nature gave them with a little bit of innocent padding, the jerks get all bent out of shape!”

They both stared at him and he felt as if he were hovering on the edge of a trap. One wrong word and he’d be ruined. John opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Oh, forget it, like you’d know anything about it!” 

Donna seemed to have changed her mind - felt sorry for him, perhaps? - and was now pulling him back out of the awkward spot she’d put him in. For some reason, though, it felt more like an attack than a rescue.

John frowned. “I’m familiar, you know, with-”

“Breasts?” asked Rose, faintly grinning. She was laughing at him too, it seemed.

He flushed. Just because he wasn’t interested in relationships didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the sexual politics that came with them. He wasn’t ignorant.

“I was just going to say that you shouldn’t feel self-conscious. Because it doesn’t matter what some ‘cretin’, as you put it, thinks of your body.”

“Easier said than done,” Rose interjected, but John ignored her.

“Anyway, the honest truth is that given the opportunity to come up close with them, size is less of a factor than you’d expect for men. In an intimate setting… well, it hardly matters! What I mean to say, Rose, is that most blokes are easy enough to please. If we’re lucky enough to… I mean… well, you know what I mean.”

He paused, stammering a bit, his indignance waning in light of Rose’s unwavering gaze. She was listening intently, and so was Donna, but he barely noticed the latter.

“I’m sure your breasts are perfect both in size and form and nothing anyone else thinks-” _will convince me otherwise_ ; “-should convince you otherwise. But if you want to wear a Wonderbra, by all means, wear one. Surely it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. I mean, if you’re wearing it to impress someone of the male persuasion, then like I said… if one of us is interested it simply doesn’t matter.”

Rose was smiling now, but in a nice way. He liked _this_ smile. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” John cleared his throat. “This conversation is getting out of hand, and I’ll shut up now if that’s okay with you.”


	24. Chapter 24

“Listen,” said Rose the following day, “I want you to know that I tried. I really did. I really tried to get you out of this. But-” she paused, took a dramatic deep breath, “I’ve failed.”

John set his mug down on the kitchen table and turned to face his housemate, who had her mobile in one palm and her face in the other.

“What? What have you failed?”

“Sunday.”

“Huh?”

“It’s my brother’s birthday party. He’s turning three. You’re invited.”

“Oh. Right.”

“It’s just for the afternoon - you don’t already have plans, do you?” Rose bit her lip, looking anxiously at him. John never had plans on Sundays, but said nothing. Taking his silence for displeasure, she added quickly, “I’ll get you out of it early.”

“Right,” he said.

“You don’t have to bring a present or anything.”

“I dunno,” John began.

“Please? I know it’s short notice and you’ll have to pretend, but-”

“-I’d be pretty disappointed if I were three and my sister’s boyfriend came to my party and didn’t bring me a plastic toy truck at the very least. I’ll go. I haven’t been to a good birthday party in ages.”

“Tony likes dinosaurs,” said Rose, with a grateful smile.

—–

John stuck his head into the kitchen, rubbed his neck, and asked, “Should I… er… dress smarter, for this thing?”

“This thing?” Rose echoed, confused. She was making something on the stove. It smelled rather good. “What, for the party?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at him strangely, holding a spatula aloft. “John, he’s three. Unless you plan on coming in dinosaur costume, there’s no dress code.”

“Can I wear my brown jumper?”

“Course, if you like.”

“It’s not- it’s not too slobby?”

Rose gave him another strange look. “What?”

“Nevermind,” he muttered, vowing to never listen to Donna again.

“I don’t see why not,” she murmured absently, searching for an oven mitt, “You look great in brown.”

He blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

—–

“Actually,” Rose told him whilst passing him on the way to the loo before bedtime, “Mum just rang me to make sure we get dressed up for the party.”

“Oh. Well - I think I have a suit somewhere. Fancy dress? Bit weird, though, you did say he’s three-”

“No- costume,” she replied, with an apologetic air. “Sorry.”

—–

Sunday arrived.

After much debate and consideration and a couple of futile trips to the charity shop, John donned his lab coat and called it a day.

He went the extra mile and got a haircut in the morning, scrambling out the door before Donna woke up and teased him about ‘meeting the parents’. Not like he was nervous about it or anything - except in a vaguely distant sort of way, because it wasn’t real. He just had to play the part, convincingly, which naturally entailed a certain level of self-consciousness. They called it method acting.

Unfortunately, Donna knew about Tony’s party, which had resulted in a week of having costume ideas flung at him. Most of them had been ridiculous (‘A fez? I’m not wearing a fez!’), others impossible (‘Where am I going to get an orange spacesuit? Have _you_ got NASA on speed dial, then?’’), and some downright lurid (‘Casanova? You’re joking, right?’).

He was secretly glad she wouldn’t be home by the time he was back from the barbers. He was never going to hear the end of it, anyway.

The barber had given him sideburns. John touched them gingerly, turning his head this way and that way to check them out in his mirror.

_Not bad, old chap._

He thought they looked rather good, actually, though they would take some getting used to. Also there was maintenance - he’d have to buy a trimmer, one of those electric razor gadget thingies. Still. They looked quite smart.

It took roughly forty-five minutes by train to Rose’s parent’s house. John skipped lunch, he didn’t have an appetite for some reason, and arrived just after one o’clock. They lived in a quiet suburban neighbourhood, lots of families with small children. John stood on the doorstep with a wrapped parcel in hand and had barely knocked twice before the front door swung open with great force.

“You’re here!”

“Hullo.”

“Whoa!” Rose held the door open, looking up at him with undisguised delight. “You got a haircut!”

“I did,” he agreed, feeling suddenly shy.

“It looks brilliant - nice sideburns!” She nodded approvingly, giving him a thumbs up.

“Thanks.”

“Like the costume, too,” she said, grinning. “It suits you. Doctor?”

“Yep. I like your-” He gestured to her entire outfit, which consisted of a satin-y pink skirt topped with a blue jacket. She had done her hair up in a sort of 50’s beehive that was as impressive-looking as it as flattering. “Nice.”

“Ta, mum did the hair for me.” She moved aside to let him through, giggling as he unbuttoned his lab coat to reveal another prop. “Where’d you get that stethoscope? It looks real. ”

“It is real. Borrowed it.” He grinned. “Attention to detail, that’s key.”

“Hang on, I’ll fetch mum and let her know you’re here.” 

Rose left him in the den and disappeared into the kitchen, skirt swishing as she walked away. He noticed her heels, which were pink and rather higher than anything he’d ever seen her wearing before. Not to mention the fishnet stockings, which he’d definitely never seen her wearing before. The combination was strangely alluring, highlighting the shape of her ankles - he shook himself, feeling weird for having noticed such a thing. What was he? A Mills and Boon ‘hero’? Donna bought those books from time to time, occasionally reading passages aloud to him for fun - utter tripe, nine times out of ten. Except now he sort of understood the notion of bits of skin one didn’t usually get to see taking on extra levels of attractiveness-

Someone snapped their fingers in his face, saying, “Doctor! Hello? Anybody home?”


	25. Chapter 25

He flinched and came back to reality, eloquently releasing a confused, “Huh?”

It was Jackie, dressed as Cinderella, lowering her fingers and beaming at him. “John! I do like your costume!”

Before John could thank her and wonder where Rose had gone, a small child who could only be Tony chose that exact moment to make his entrance. He came running into the kitchen clad only in his pajama bottoms and shrieking at the top of his lungs. John was impressed by his volume, if not by the coherency of his shouting, which was overall unintelligible. 

The boy caught sight of him and stopped in his tracks, abruptly falling silent and ducking behind his mother’s skirt. 

“C’mon love, out you get - you’ve got to meet John, haven’t you? He’s Rosie’s boyfriend, remember?” Jackie scooped him up and braced him on one hip. “Say hello, sweetheart.”  
  
“Hello, Tony,” said John, but Tony had come over with a bout of extreme shyness, and refused to make even a peep, no matter how hard John tried to get him to speak. Not even the present could get more than a tiny spark of interest from the little boy.

Jackie unwrapped the box, and exclaimed, “Look, Tony-pony, it’s a dinosaur! Isn’t that brilliant?”

Tony reached for the plastic Tyrannosaurus Rex, modeled true to scale and anatomically correct and buried his face in his mother’s neck.

Jackie smiled, her expression a bit sheepish. “Went to see the pediatrician yesterday, didn’t we? You were such a good, brave boy, Mummy’s very proud of you!” She patted Tony’s back, and explained, looking up and down at John’s lab coat, “He just got his immunization shots, wee bit wary of Doctors at the mo-”

“Oh,” said John, deflated.

“Don’t worry, love,” Jackie assured him, “Just play with him for a bit and he’ll get used to you. By the time the party is over he won’t want you to leave!”

That was A Bit Of An Overstatement, in the end.

—–

“Now that we’ve all had cake,” said Jackie, keeping a determinedly cheerful smile on her face - it twitched, slightly, when a little girl in a pink tutu and a Spiderman mask started rubbing coloured chalk into the carpet - “It’s time for games!”

John felt distinctly out of place, sitting cross-legged between Dino-onesie Tony (who kept trying to edge away) and his pirate chum Nicky (who kept glaring at him with all the distrust a small child could possibly muster). It appeared that his choice of costume had been a mistake. Doctors were clearly not popular among the three-to-four year old demographic. He’d tried taking off his lab coat and stuffing the stethoscope into his trouser pocket, but apparently toddlers had long memories and did not easily forget who their enemies were.

“Hide and seek!” announced Jackie.

“Yay,” said Rose, in the same tone of voice she might use if she were to say, _‘giant cockroaches with nuclear immunity have infested our bedrooms’_. Her arm shot out and clamped around her tutu-wearing cousin, preventing further damage to her mother’s soft furnishings. Jackie seemed relieved.

The children, on the other hand, reacted with varying degrees of hyperactive excitement. Tony, being the birthday boy, was elected as the first to be ‘it’ much to his delight.

—–

There weren’t that many places to hide in the house. At least not when you were over 2 feet tall.

Eventually John found his way into the master bedroom. He considered the en-suite, but decided it was too obvious and so moved onto the next door, which led into a smallish walk-in closet, stuffed to the brim with seasonal winter clothing. It happened to be already occupied, but the occupant seemed willing to share her hiding spot with him.

“Light fixture’s broken,” Rose warned, as he picked his way carefully over a jumble of boots, “-it’s pitch black in here if you close the door.”

He left it open a crack and leaned against a coat rack. “They all hate me. I should’ve come as an astronaut, like Donna said.”

Rose settled down a pile of jumpers, kicking up her heels. The fluffy skirt got even more floofy and voluminous as she crossed her legs and patted the patch of carpet next to her. John obliged, folding himself to fit next to her in the cramped space.

She grinned, her tongue peeking out between her teeth. “Cheer up. _I_ like your costume.”

Oddly, that did cheer him a bit. Still, it was quite depressing to be unpopular at a party, even if all the party-goers were several decades younger than him. It left a bad impression, he thought, and was once again happy that Pete Tyler was missing the party due to work obligations.

“How long until he thinks to check here, d’you reckon?” John asked.

“A bit,” said Rose, “He’s afraid, you see, mum told him Goblins live here and will eat him if he gets close.”

“What for?”

“She doesn’t want him making a big mess in here.”

As if on cue, the closet door creaked open, letting a wider sliver of light into the closet, and a little face peeked through the gap.

“Ah. Never mind,” said Rose. “He’s found us.”

“Well done,” said John, waving at Tony. He tried a smile. Tony didn’t return it.

He held out his hand to help her to her feet. Rose grinned and shrugged, accepting his outstretched gesture. At that moment, however, there was the sound of scuffling, the door handle jiggled, and then a heavy click. Rose’s head snapped up as darkness enveloped them.

“That was- he didn’t! How could he, he can’t even reach the door handle!” She pulled away from John, scuffling in the dark towards the door. “Oh my god! He did!”

“What?”

“He’s locked us in!”

_“What?”_


	26. Chapter 26

It was odd to be sitting in the dark alone together, the smell of mothballs and dust jackets surrounding them. 

After banging on the door for ages with no response aside from a few giggles (‘Little terrors!’ Rose muttered with resignation, ‘The whole lot of them!’), they gave up and simply waited for Jackie to notice they’d gone missing. Which ought to be soon (she was dealing with eight toddlers on her own) but could be a while (she was dealing with _eight_ toddlers on _her own_ ).

John was glad he didn’t suffer from claustrophobia. He was rather hyper-aware of Rose’s presence; could hear her breathing and the scent of her apple body wash - it was body wash, not shampoo, he knew this because he recognized the difference, her hair smelled like flowers, not fruit. 

It was bloody hot, as well, with no air circulation save for the half inch gap at the bottom of the door. He heard Rose unzipping her blue jacket and tossing it aside and wished he could do the same - unfortunately he had no layers left to take off, having got rid of his lab coat earlier due its unpopularity. The material of her dress made little crinkling noises when she shifted on the floor, searching for the most comfortable position to wait in. She sighed and grumbled something under her breath. She didn’t sound too happy.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Cramp. In my leg. Been sitting here for ages before you came up-”

“Flex your toe upwards,” said John, “Try to hold it with your fingertips if you can. Bit difficult if you’re not flexible, Donna can never do it-”

“Not a problem,” said Rose. “I used to be a gymnast.”

“Were you?”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I believe you.”

“Look-” she grabbed his hand and placed it on her foot. She’d kicked her heels free. “See. Touching my toe.”

John blushed in the dark and was glad she couldn’t see how ridiculous he was being. It was just her foot.

“It isn’t working anyway. Ow.”

“Cross this leg over the other one and massage it,” he suggested, hoping his voice sounded normal.

“Okay.” She sounded dubious, and winced. “Oh, that really hurts.”

“Like this- where?”

Tentatively, John ran his hand from her ankle to her knee, stopping on her thigh when she replied, “-there.”

The muscle felt very tight. No wonder she was in pain.

“I think you’d better stand up and stretch your leg a little.”

“Okay,” she said, huffing a breath out. He felt it strike his temple, which surprised him. Rose grappled with the carpet, laying a hand on his shoulder to heave herself up. “John, you’re sitting on my skirt-”

He shifted, but not quickly enough. Rose tried yanking her skirt free and overbalanced-

“Ow!” She tripped and banged her chin against the top of his head - it hurt - and stumbled, falling on him. “Sorry!”

He fell backwards, grasping for her arms to steady her, but all he got were two handfuls of silky tulle and an elbow to the solar plexus. His hands reacted automatically, a reflex, cupping themselves over what they were resting on. Rose made a noise that was half-squeal, half groan.

John lifted his hands as if he’d been scalded, completely mortified. “Sorry!”

“S’okay,” Rose mumbled, embarrassment in her voice. She rolled off him with a thud. “Ow.”

While he wrestled with the fact that accident or not, he’d just groped her, Rose sat up again.

“John,” she said in a plaintive voice.

“Y-yeah?”

“You’re lying on my skirt now.”

“Sorry!”

John flushed and tried to maneuver himself clumsily a foot to the left. Something caught on the button of his shirt sleeve, he tugged his arm away. The sound of fabric tearing ripped through the dark closet.

They both froze.

“What-” John licked his parched lips, afraid of the answer. “What was that?”

“Oh… just the bodice of my dress,” replied Rose, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

There was silence.

“Mum can fix it,” Rose said bracingly after a moment. She laughed, but it sounded forced. “If we ever get out of this dreadful closet, that is.”

Fortunately, that seemed to do the trick, because no sooner than the words had left her mouth, heavy footsteps sounded beyond the locked door.

“Tony,” said a familiar voice, “We don’t lock our guests into closets, okay?”

“Dad!” Relief radiated from Rose.

John blinked against the sudden brightness that flooded the closet. He turned his head and saw a pair of very practical men’s shoes. The shoes were attached to a pair of long legs, which in turn were attached to a man’s torso, upon which sat a head.

It belonged to Pete.

Pete, who was carrying Tony in one arm. Pete, whose expression of surprise turned into something much more alarming as his eyes took in the state of Rose’s torn dress. Pete, who looked down, his mouth doing that thing it did sometimes (too many times) when John was on the receiving end of his gaze.

It was not a smile by any loose definition of the word.

John’s heart sank.

—–

Hours later, after the sun had gone down and the children had gone home, John exited the shed at the back of the house, distinctly green in the gills.

Rose was standing on the front steps waiting for him. She was wearing jeans and a cozy pink jumper and gave him a grin as he approached.  She walked him to the bus stop, remarking with interest, “You were ages in the shed.”

He swallowed thickly, hoping his queasiness wouldn’t get worse on the ride home.

“It’s a whole new record even for Dad,” Rose said, rolling her eyes fondly. “He can spend hours talking about his recipes, but blimey!”

John didn’t respond. She gave him a curious glance; he hoped she couldn’t tell he was on the verge of tossing his dinner up. He’d embarrassed himself enough for one day without adding vomit to the mix.

“What’s the matter?”

No matter how many times she asked, though, he simply wouldn’t say.


	27. Chapter 27

“My tea’s gone cold! _Jooooohn!”_

“Oi, stop yelling, I’m not deaf.”

“And I need more tissues! I’m out!”

“I wasn’t aware that being your housemate meant I had to wait on you hand and foot,” John said wryly, stepping over a pile of used tissue and empty lozenge packets.

He set a fresh steaming mug of tea on the night table next to Donna’s bed to replace the empty one that already sat there, and turned to grab a fresh box of tissues from the stack next to the door.

Lying prone across the bed, she sneezed and muttered her thanks. The flushed cheeks, red eyes and limp hair hinted towards an ill disposition, but most telling of all was how easily she submitted to John placing his hand on her forehead.

“Am I dying?” she moaned.

John held back the impulse to roll his eyes through sheer force of will. Donna had a mild case of the flu. She was, naturally, acting as if she had contracted the black plague and would expire of illness at any moment.

“I doubt it,” he replied. “Drink your tea.”

With the sort of deeply suffering sigh that would have put Lord Byron to shame, Donna sipped at her tea, gaze balefully resting on John over the top of the mug rim.

“Next time you go stargazing with your Gramps, bring a jumper,” he advised, shoving a stack of magazines aside to make space for himself. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he pulled a thermometer out of his pocket. “Let’s see if your fever has gone down.”

It hadn’t, not in the hour since he’d checked. “Still thirty-eight-point-five.”

“I’m dying,” Donna wailed. “I can’t breathe properly!”

“That’s because you have three duvets and an electric blanket on you,” John said reasonably, and tried to remove one or two of them. He was paid for his efforts with a slap to the hand that seemed more forceful than it ought to be coming from someone who was ill.

He gave her an injured look. “That’s not terribly nice- I’m just trying to help!”

“Help me by finding me another pillow, then.”

John sighed and got to his feet.

—–

“I’m hungry,” she complained, when John came back a little while later to check her temperature again. Still no better.

“Alright,” he said, “How about some soup?”

She didn’t respond, which John took to mean yes.

—–

“That is _not_ chicken soup,” said Donna darkly.

“Funnily, enough, that’s what it said on the can,” said John, equally grim.

She looked at him, scandalised. Clearly she thought she was above the canned stuff. Well, she could deal with it.

“I’m not eating that!” Or not.

“Fine,” John retorted, irritated. He’d spent ages wrestling with a faulty can-opener, and had nearly burned the kitchen down heating it up. So much for gratefulness. “I will. I’m starving!”

—–

Two hours and five cups of tea later, Donna gave him an accusing glare, as if all of this was his fault, and demanded, “When is Rose back?”

“Not soon enough,” John muttered, shoving a new wad of tissue at her.

“Bah!”

—–

He kept his voice low, despite being extremely cross, and said, “She’s bloody intolerable! You’ve no idea, Rose-”

Over the line, Rose laughed, which soothed him a little, but not nearly enough. “She’s just feeling poorly.”

“She’s driving me up the wall!”

From somewhere upstairs, a cranky voice shouted something intelligible.

He made a face, and continued his tirade, “I can’t take much more of this-”

“I’m sure Donna hasn’t got any complaints,” Rose said supportively.  

John snorted. “You should hear her!”

“I don’t believe it. You were perfectly lovely when it was me,” said Rose, surprising him. “I couldn’t have asked for more.”

Well, that- that had been different. Rose hadn’t been a tyrant in the sickbed. She’d been easy to tend to, a much more affable patient. He hadn’t wanted to throttle her.

_“Is that Rose?”_ came another shout, more loudly this time.

“I have to go,” he grumbled. “She’s awake.”

“Alright, good luck.”

“When will you be back?” John asked, a touch of desperation in his voice.

“Couple of hours,” said Rose, apologetically. “Mum’s gone out shopping, I’m still baby-sitting.”

_“Hurry.”_

—–

They were in the middle of an intense staring contest over a spoon full of Benylin when Rose came home.

Donna had resisted every single remedy he’d come up with for the cough she’d developed suddenly in the afternoon. She was sick of tea with honey, Lemsip tasted bad, lozenges didn’t work… he was putting his foot down.

A blonde head peeked through the door, and took in the matching glares.

“Your faces will stick that way if you’re not careful,” she teased.

“Rose!” they cried out in unison, with equal parts relief and joy.

She grinned and came into the room, lifting both arms to show them what she’d brought home with her.

“Soup, home-made,” said Rose, offering up a thermos to Donna. “Mum’s recipe, always cured whatever ailed me.”

“I bloody love you,” said Donna. “You’re an angel!”

“Coffee,” she said to John in turn, handing him a Starbucks cup, as well as a newspaper wrapped bundle of - what else - chips.

“I bloody love you,” he said, parroting Donna.

Rose sat on the foot of the bed, her cheeks pink with pleasure from the praise and exuberant greeting she’d received. She watched as both her housemates began to devour their food, asking in amusement, “What did the two of you do when I didn’t live here?”

“When wa’ dat?” Donna asked between gulps, swiping at her nose with a tissue.

“Six months ago,” she said thoughtfully. “Feels like an age.”

“Feels like you’ve always been here,” Donna corrected, and blew her nose.

John realised that it was true. Rose hadn’t been living with them for very long, but she fit into their lives so neatly it was as if she’d always been there. He couldn’t imagine not having her here now.

“We couldn’t get on without you,” Donna said once she’d finished the contents of the thermos. She was in a much better mood now, and was even smiling feebly. “Isn’t that right, John?”

“Yeah,” he said, slowly, popping a chip into his mouth. When Rose met his gaze and smiled at him, he couldn’t help but smile widely back, the food and coffee resting warmly in his stomach.


	28. Chapter 28

Donna’s fever went down by nightfall (‘Miracle soup!’ she declared) but her cough lingered on miserably, complete with whinging and moaning that tested even Rose’s unending patience.

John was relieved of care duty, which was just as well. When Rose got up the following morning to put the kettle on, she could hear the sound of piteous coughing emerging from his bedroom.

He’d caught Donna’s flu. 

—–

“Sorry,” he said in between fits of wheezing and sniffling, when Rose came in bearing a tray filled with tea and crackers. He wouldn’t stop apologizing, no matter how many times she told him he needn’t bother.

“You’re like a broken record,” Rose complained, even as she sat on the edge of the bed and patted his back. He was doubled over, overcome by a rather horrid fit of coughing.

“Poor thing,” she murmured with sympathy.

“Stay away,” he croaked, falling back against his pillows and sounding just as dramatic as Donna had the previous day. Rose bit back a smile.

“I mean it- you’ll catch it, too.”

He was probably right, but she didn’t want him to worry.

“I won’t,” Rose assured him. “I never get sick.”

Her phone started buzzing. John looked like he was about to drop off, so she got up and left the room, closing the door quietly. She waited until she was in the living room to answer. It was Shaz. Rose kicked off her slippers and sprawled across the sofa with a sigh.

“Sounds right serious, that did,” her friend remarked, and Rose could imagine her face, eyebrow crooked, eager for gossip. “What’s up, doll?”

“Nothing exciting, don’t get your hopes up. It’s just that both my housemates have got the flu and it’s running me ragged taking care of them.”

“Why are you doing that, then? That ain’t your problem.”

The question wasn’t out of character for Shareen, who lived by herself in a tiny bedsit with a terrifying landlady, and kept to herself as much as possible.

“It’s not a problem,” Rose replied, shrugging. “They’re lovely, and we’re quite good chums now. John took care of me when I was in hospital - I’m just returning the favour.”

“Hmm. John, is it?”

Shareen’s tone was knowing. Rose flushed, and was thankful Shaz didn’t know about John pretending to be her boyfriend in front of her mum and dad.

“Oh, stop, it’s not like that-”

“Really?”

“Really!”

“Is he fit?”

“Shaz-”

“C’mon, just tell me! Is he? I’ll bet he is, is he tall? You do like ‘em tall.”

Rose glanced at John’s door, which was still closed, and reluctantly admitted, “He’s 6’1, I reckon. At least.”

“Ooh, nice. Dark hair?”

“Yes. Not very dark. Just brown, keeps it quite messy.”

“That’s alright,” said Shareen, “-it’s quite modern, really.”

Rose wasn’t sure about that, but privately thought that she rather liked it that way. Especially in the mornings, when he’d just woken up and looked all tousled - as if he’d spent the night tossing and turning in his bed. Somehow it made him seem very young, almost boyish, in an appealing sort of way.

“Dreamy eyes,” Rose said, giving in at last. “Lovely smile.”

“Nice bum?”

“Nice bum,” she confirmed, a tiny giggle threatening to escape. She managed to keep it down, but her face felt hot all the same.

“Is he nice, though?” Shaz demanded, and then added, “What am I saying, ‘course he is, you wouldn’t be playing Florence Nightingale otherwise, no matter how easy he is on the eyes.”

John _was_ nice. Which made it rather difficult, sometimes, to remember her personal vow of never getting involved with a man ever again. There he was in the same house, being his tall, handsome, generous self - a sore temptation of the very worst kind.

Rose sometimes caught herself thinking _he’s not like other blokes, he’d be different_ \- and immediately reprimanded herself for being foolish. There was nothing to be gained there. They’d made it clear from day one, hadn’t they? There wasn’t to be any sort of… fraternisation between them.

Even if his smiles seemed to be getting brighter each day - that didn’t mean anything. Nor did the way his eyes lingered on her face a bit longer than warranted sometimes, or the way he said her name, _Rose_ , with an extra warmth she hadn’t noticed before.

No, she wouldn’t take the risk. It was very much a possibility that his attentiveness towards her was simply a part of his good nature.

“Rose? You still there?”

“Oh, yeah- sorry. I’m knackered.”

She’d forgot all about Shaz on the other end of the line. The silence must have seemed condemning, because her friend asked, suspiciously, “He’s not gay, is he?”

“Don’t think so,” Rose replied, thinking of how soft his lips were.

“So what’s the problem, then?”

“You know I’ve got horrible rotten luck with the good looking ones… they always run off. Still trying to live down the Jimmy Stone fiasco.” She shrugged awkwardly, which was a bit pointless as Shareen couldn’t see her doing so.

“Seems a waste, if he’s as good as you make him sound.”

“Anyway, we live together, so… it’d be bad. If things went wrong.”

“Fair point,” said Shareen, clucking her tongue. “You’re all grown up, Rosie.”

Rose opened her mouth to reply to the teasing rejoinder but before she could speak, there was the sound of a thump against John’s bedroom door. She heard a muffled curse, and then the door opened. John stumbled out, hair wild. Her heart skipped a beat, panic welling in the fit of her stomach-

He gave her a sheepish look, coughed, and mumbled, “-hafta use the loo.”

She nodded, painfully aware that she was gripping her mobile to her chest, and waited until he disappeared up the stairs to tell Shareen she had to go, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.


	29. Chapter 29

“Here you go, love,” said the bartender, setting two pints in front of Rose. “First round’s on the house, for you and your gorgeous friend over there.”

Rose wasn’t going to argue, and thanked him before returning to the table in the corner of the packed pub.

“Don’t pay him any mind - Marcus is always trying to get a leg over,” Donna said, once Rose had related the message. But still, she preened a little bit, flipping her hair over her shoulder in a way that made the glossy red curls catch the light. She cast a look in the direction of the bar, giving Marcus a little wave. He grinned back.

“Big ol’ flirt,” Donna said affectionately, rolling her eyes. 

“As if that’s not why you always insist on coming here,” said John, shaking his head. Having not received a complimentary beer, he got up to fetch one for himself, grumbling good-naturedly about pub staff playing favourites.

The Stag’s Head was several blocks off campus and was always busy, filled to the brim every night with regular patrons. It was cheap, it was cheerful, and it had a great atmosphere - making it a very popular location to socialize for both students and professors alike.

Donna had been shocked to discover Rose had never been. She’d dragged both Rose and John out of the house and halfway across campus to rectify the situation. It was nice to get out of the house for reasons other than school or work, Rose thought, and especially so after the two of them had been cooped up with the flu for nearly a week and a half.  

Things had been a little tense after the night Rose had been on the phone with Shareen, and even now she couldn’t quite tell if John had overheard her end of the conversation. He’d been heavily dosed with flu medication and had been rather out of sorts at the time, she told herself, so perhaps he wasn’t aware she’d openly conceded to finding him extremely attractive. Or maybe he had, and it just didn’t matter to him. He certainly was going about as if nothing had happened.

Embarrassment was a given. Rose didn’t want him to think she fancied him, but she had to admit that she did, just a teeny little bit. Which was troubling enough by itself… but she also found herself frustrated by the niggling suspicion that he did know… and was simply ignoring it. Why this bothered her so much didn’t bear thinking about. It was just confusing. She didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Bit of a crush,” Donna said cheerfully, cutting into Rose’s thoughts, “But that’s why everyone comes here.” She paused, spotting someone in the crowd, and waved to them. “Over here!”

Rose turned her head to see Ianto, glad for the distraction. He wasn’t alone, though, and when he reached the table, it was with his neighbour Jack Harkness in tow.

“Jack!” Donna positively beamed. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight!”

“I hope that’s a welcome,” he replied.

“Of course!”

He gave both girls a lazy smile that somehow packed more flirtiness in it than any smile ought to be able to contain, and gestured for Ianto to sit down while he ordered food for them both.

“He’s as gorgeous as ever,” Donna sighed.

Rose watched him part the crowd, his dark coat standing out smartly against the sea of rather more casually dressed students. At the bar just beyond him was John, a head taller than the rest, his familiar brown jumper as equally striking as Jack’s suave menswear. She looked away as he turned around.

“Marcus made me pay, even though I gave him my best come-hither look,” John announced jokingly, holding a beer in one hand and a plate of chips in the other. “I’ve lost my touch. Hullo, Ianto!”

“Hello, John,” said Ianto, and made to stand up. “Oh! Sorry, I’ve taken your seat, haven’t I-”

“No, no, that’s quite alright, I’ll stand.” He set the plate down in front of Rose. “Here you go.”

Rose looked up in surprise. “I didn’t order chips.”

“You looked a bit peaky.” He shrugged and awkwardly hovered behind her chair, casting a shadow over her.

“I’ll have ‘em,” Donna said, popping one into her mouth.

Rose ate slowly, torn between finding the gesture very sweet but also extremely uncomfortable. She hoped John didn’t intend to stand behind her the entire night. His stomach growled, startling her, and he went pink in the face.

“I do hope Jack is ordering something to eat,” Ianto said thoughtfully.

Rose felt John stiffen. He said, frowning, “Jack’s here, too?”

“He arrived with Ianto,” Rose told him.

John ruffled his hair, making a good chunk of it stand up on end at the top of his head. It seemed to be an unconscious habit he’d picked up as of late, whenever he was agitated. Rose wondered why John seemed to dislike Jack so much, and was about to question him on the matter when the man in question returned to the table as if their chatter had summoned him.

“Speaking of which,” Donna lifted her head and shouted at Marcus across the pub, “Not enough chairs!”

“Can’t help you there, luv,” he shouted back. “Full house in here!”

“Perhaps we can just borrow a chair from another table,” Ianto suggested, looking around for any available seating.

“Surely we can share,” was Jack’s response. His lazy smile surfaced again, focused on Rose this time. He jerked his head at the table next to them, where a group of three couples were sharing pints on each others’ laps. “It seems to be the done thing.”

The implication being that he would not mind offering up his lap as a seat for anyone who should so desire. Rose couldn’t help blushing a bit, even as John scowled.  

Donna smirked, volleying the flirtatious statement back, “You can sit on my lap, Jack, if you like.”

“The bartender might take offense,” he remarked, winking at her. “Anyway, I was thinking of these two over here-”

It took a few seconds for his meaning to sink in.

_Right,_ she realised with a sinking heart, recalling that Jack had been there, hadn’t he… that day in the hospital, the day she’d been drugged up… She couldn’t bring herself to look at John, from whom she could feel tension wafting off in almost palpable waves… 

Because Jack, of course, had witnessed her snogging the living daylights out of John. Jack, of course, thought they were dating. It occurred to her that Ianto probably thought the same. 

“I prefer to stand-” John was saying, his conviction somewhat marred by his being shoved rudely aside mid-sentence by a large man carrying a heaving tray, with nary more than a grunted ‘yer in the way, lad!’ as apology.

Jack lifted his eyebrow. So did Donna.

“No, really, I would rather-” John was pushed again, nearly toppling over this time by a rowdy duo of drunk football club boys. He straightened, and insisted, “I’m fine.”

Rose shifted over in her seat, leaving half of it bare, knowing there was no other choice. She looked up at John and smiled, hoping it looked natural. “We can share.”

To her surprise, he didn’t argue. He accepted the offer, tentatively sitting on the empty half of the chair. It was not nearly large enough to accommodate them both, and the feeling of his thigh pressed against hers was enough to let Rose know this hadn’t been the best idea she’d ever had.

“So,” Jack said with amusement, regarding the table at large, “Whose lap shall I sit on?”


	30. Chapter 30

Jack’s question was left unanswered. Donna had opened her mouth to fling back some flirty response but the quip died upon her lips before it could be vocalised. Something behind Jack had caught her attention - her eyes darted quickly to John, a brief look of consternation appearing on her face, but it was almost instantly replaced by a big smile.

At the same time, someone tapped Rose on the shoulder. It was hard to shift whilst sharing a too small seat, so Rose ended up having to twist her body at an uncomfortable angle in order to see who it was.

She exclaimed, “What are _you_ doing here?”

“What, just because I’m not a student, I can’t come to your fancy Uni pub?” Mickey Smith squeezed her shoulder, his mouth quirked in amusement. “Lovely to see you, too.”

He wasn’t alone. Mickey had his other arm around a girl their age.

“This is Martha,” he said, chest puffing out slightly, “Martha, this is Rose.”

Ah. The new girlfriend, the one Mickey was so proud of - Shareen had mentioned the name in passing, but Rose had forgotten all about her until now.

Martha Jones was petite and well dressed and very, very pretty, with the sort of knock out smile that instantly made her likeable in addition to insanely attractive. If this had been a few years prior, Rose would have felt jealous of her. Fortunately the era of possessiveness over Mickey was in the past, and now all she felt was a friendly pleasure at seeing her friend with someone so lovely.

“Hi,” said Martha. “Nice to meet you. And how’ve you been?”

The last question, tacked directly onto the introduction, confused Rose until she realised it wasn’t directed at her. Martha’s gaze was trained on John - who seemed to have become a frozen statue next to her. Rose felt the trickling awareness of a sudden tension she didn’t quite understand, and turned a questioning glance towards Donna.

But Donna was already out of her seat, coming round the table to give Martha a hug.

“It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” Martha said, returning Donna’s embrace. She smiled, but there was something a bit strained in her expression. “Hello, John.”

“Hello,” said John. He stood abruptly, and shook Martha’s hand, looking like searching for the closest escape route. He stared at his old friend as if she were a mirage in a desert, one he’d never expected to see. “Good to see you, Martha. You look - well.”

“I am,” she replied.

So they knew each other. It wasn’t particularly surprising; this was a popular hangout. What was strange was the uncomfortable atmosphere that had descended.

It was Jack, bless his soul, who defused things. He greeted the newcomers with great enthusiasm, was introduced to them, and lingered over Martha’s hand in a way that made Mickey bat him away, though not with any real vehemence.

No, Mickey wasn’t threatened by Jack at all. As the evening drew on, Rose sensed his awareness shift from the openly boisterous Jack to John, who was being uncharacteristically silent. He excused himself to go to the loo and didn’t return for quite some time.

—–

Something was up.

Rose knew it, and she was dying to ask Donna what was going on, but couldn’t broach the subject with Jack and Ianto present.

Her eyes drifted towards the bar, where she could see Martha and Mickey conversing, their heads bent together. Martha seemed to be saying something serious; she was looking up at him with beseeching eyes, and lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. After a moment, Mickey nodded stiffly.

He approached Rose, and gave her a nonchalant, one-armed hug. “We’re heading out.”

“Already? What’s the matter?” Rose couldn’t help herself from asking. “Did you have a row?”

“Nah. Martha’s knackered and so am I. See you later.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” He paused, a moment, before flicking his shoulder in a shrug. Irony laced his tone. “Small world, ain’t it?”

While Rose wondered what that was supposed to mean, Mickey sought out Martha, who was saying goodbye to the others.

“I’ve been planning to go up to my parent’s cottage in Surrey in a couple of weeks,” Jack said before they left, “Ianto’s coming with me, but there’s plenty more space. You’re all welcome to join me if you’d like to get away from the city.”

Donna’s eyes lit up. “Really? My birthday’s in two weeks and a cottage getaway sounds brilliant!”

Rose felt a tinge of guilt. “I didn’t know it was your birthday.”

Donna waved it away. “Now you know.”

“Perfect timing!” said Ianto, beaming at Jack. 

“What is?” John hovered at the edge of the group.

“Jack’s invited us all to his cottage for a mini break!” His face fell. Donna added meaningfully, “For my birthday,” which was code for _you’re coming, like it or not_.

“We really should get going,” Martha said, interrupting the conversation. “Donna, in case we don’t see each other, happy early birthday. I’ll definitely give you a ring. Good night, John. Nice to meet you Jack, Rose-”

“That invitation was for _everyone_ , darling,” Jack cut in, before Donna could argue. He winked at her. “Like I said, there’s plenty of room - the more the merrier, and I know Donna would love to have you there.”

Martha hesitated and looked at Mickey, who shrugged, “Up to you, babe, I’m free.”

Her eyes flicked from Jack’s face to Donna’s and finally to John’s. Whatever she saw in his countenance seemed to make up her mind, and Martha shook her head. She seemed a bit… hurt, actually, which made Rose even more curious.

“No, I’d better not, I don’t want to intrude-” she started.

John interrupted, blurting out, “That’s not-”, he halted, then said more carefully, “You shouldn’t feel that way. You’re always welcome, you know. With us.”

“I’ll think about it,” Martha said, at last.

Rose watched John’s shoulders relax, and for some reason the sight left her feeling apprehensive. 


	31. Chapter 31

The week leading up to Donna’s birthday was bright, warm, and lovely. She was very excited about the upcoming trip and spoke of nothing else. It was no different that morning - in between bites she regaled her housemates with a description of Jack’s cottage, gleaned from Ianto, and the party he was going to throw for her.

“Twenty-one again!” She winked at Rose. “If anyone’s asking.”

“Funny, that’s the fifth year in a row,” said John, ducking the spatula Donna tossed at his head and grinning as she flounced upstairs with her tea and scones, leaving Rose and John to finish their breakfast together in the kitchen.

Taking her by surprise, he asked in a low voice, “Have you got Donna a present yet?”

Rose shook her head. “No.” 

“D’you fancy coming with me to the shops, then? Your taste is probably better than mine.”

“Henriks’?” she offered. “I’ve got my employee discount.”

“Brilliant.”

They finished eating and left the dishes in the sink. The bus journey to the high street wasn’t long, but it held a tinge of awkwardness, which was not quite relieved by John’s conversation.

He told Rose some rather amusing stories about Donna’s previous birthday celebrations, including one that took place last year in Wales. She laughed at all the right places, but at the back of her mind she wondered if the drunken antics had included a certain someone who seemed to be a sore point for John.

Rose’s subtle attempts to ask about his history with Mickey’s girlfriend had yielded very little in terms of discovery. It was obvious that Martha was a former housemate, but other than that, Donna was vague about the details.

Why _had_ Martha moved out? Had changing circumstances forced it, or was it simply due to their having had a falling out? 

Either way, Rose was willing to bet her favourite pink jumper that John had something to do with it. 

She glanced at him, curiosity burning inside her, but was reluctant to ask him outright… there was no way to know how he’d react to the question, and she was afraid to poke a hole in a potential hornet’s nest.

—–

“How about a pair of earrings?” Rose suggested once they were inside the brightly lit, crowded department store. “I know someone over at the jewelry counter, I think he’s working today.”

Straight away, they were asked, “What’s your budget?”

“Er- nothing extravagant,” said John, looking sheepish. “We’re students, mind you.”

“Nothing too cheap, either,” Rose added quickly.

“Semi-precious,” agreed John. “Within reason, of course.”

Rose’s friend Sam nodded and led them over to a display that held silver trinkets. He was middle-aged, round-faced and balding - definitely not what John had expected when Rose had said ‘chum’, but by now he’d learned that Rose made friends as readily as others drank water, and no one was immune to her outgoing personality.

She pointed to a medium-sized pale green stone set in a silver band, “How about that one?”

John shook his head, and pointed to a pair of filigree earrings, each adorned with a smaller, darker green stone.

“Peridot,” said Sam. “Quite lovely.”

“Bit small,” Rose commented.

“But look at the colour,” said John. “Even though these stones are smaller, they’re a deeper olive, see? The darker the peridot, the more valuable.”

“You’re a very knowledgeable young man,” Sam said, sounding surprised.

John gave a modest shrug. “I did some research. How much?”

Sam lifted the dark maroon box the earrings came in to show them the tiny price tag stuck to the bottom of it. He noted, “Minus Rose’s twelve percent employee discount.”

“Halfsies?” Rose suggested, wincing at the number she saw. John agreed, and Sam rang up their purchase, lightening both their wallets in one blow.

They browsed around for a bit, John babbling on and on about the precious stone they’d chosen and its qualities. Gem quality peridot, she learned, also known as olivine, was a silicate mineral, rather rare due to the mineral’s chemical instability on the earth’s surface… it was one of few gemstones that only occurred in one colour, olive green, the intensity and tint of which depended on how much iron existed in the crystal structure…

Definitely a chemistry major, Rose thought fondly, only half-listening as he droned on, scribbling the formula in the air with a finger - _(Mg, Fe)2SiO4_ \- as if she knew what any of that meant.

They were headed out the shop’s heavily decorated doors when John’s phone buzzed. He paused in his lecture to check the incoming text he’d got. Rose turned her head, to suggest grabbing a curry from the takeaway down the street, and saw dismay flicker in his gaze as he regarded his message.

“Sorry, Rose- I’ve got somewhere to go,” he said hastily, shoving his mobile back into his pocket, “See you at home.”

And then he was off like the proverbial bullet. Rose closed her mouth, unsure of what to make of this strange behaviour.

—–

She was in her bedroom when she heard the front door open. Glancing at her wristwatch, Rose realised that three hours had passed since she and John had parted ways outside Henrik’s. 

It wasn’t her intention to eavesdrop, but the walls in the house were thin and the sound of their voices carried up the stairs.

Donna spoke first, greeting John with a blunt, “Why are you looking so gloomy?”

John coughed. His voice sounded a bit odd, as if his throat were clogged. “No reason.”

“Yeaaah. Try again.”

“Just feeling a bit under the weather, I suppose.”

“Where’d you go last night?”

“Just out. With a friend.”

“Martha?”

John sounded startled. “What? No.”

“You ran out of the house like it was on fire. Thought maybe she called you.”

“No. She didn’t.” There was a pause.

“It’s all water under the bridge now, isn’t it?” Donna’s voice took on a softer tone. “Martha’s dating Mickey, and you have your thing with Rose-”

“Rose and I aren’t-” He broke off, and she then heard him grumble, “Oh, why do I bother?”

“You can’t avoid it forever, John. You bungled things-”

“Yes, no need to remind me of that fact-”

“-but Martha’s come back, hasn’t she? Think of it as an opportunity.”

 _An opportunity for what?_ Rose wondered as the conversation between Donna and John ended and silence filled the air.


	32. Chapter 32

“Christ, Donna, d’you _have to_ drive so bloody fast?”

“It’s _your_ bloody fault we’re late!” she retorted, scowling at John in the rearview mirror. The caustic reminder made him snap his mouth shut, but Rose thought it might also have something to do with the decidedly green tinge in his complexion.

Donna had been positively livid earlier. They were due to drive down to Surrey that day but John had disappeared from the house at the crack of dawn after receiving another mysterious phone call. He’d returned several hours later looking rather worse for wear, refusing to explain where he’d gone. 

“Where have you been?” Donna had demanded in heated outrage, “We’re an hour behind schedule!”

“Sorry,” he’d said, flinching at the time on the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. “I was… er, that is… something came up…”

“Oh, never mind! Just get your things, we have to be off!”

A flurry of activity followed, in which two weeks worth of luggage for three people was shoved into the tiny boot of a rental car. Donna got behind the helm, which was unfortunate for a couple of solid reasons:

1) she was rather eager to arrive at their destination, and

2) she didn’t seem to believe in speed limits.

“Have mercy,” John muttered, clutching his door handle. “I’d like to get there in one piece, if you don’t mind.”

There was no response from their driver as the car swerved sharply in the next moment. Car horns blew in every direction, which left Rose’s ears ringing as she clung to her seat belt for dear life.

Donna rolled down her window and shouted at the top of her lungs, “Bloody imbecile!”

John threw Rose a desperate glance. “Can’t you swap with her?”

“Haven’t got a license,” she replied apologetically. “Are you feeling alright, John? You look rather poorly.”

He looked like he was about to lose his breakfast any minute, actually, but manfully shook his head, saying, “I’m fine. I’m always fine,”- the car swerved again, and whatever he said next was lost in an avalanche of car horns blasting.

—–

It was almost sundown by the time they arrived thanks to two accidents on the motorway and the GPS failing halfway to Surrey. After much frustration and heated quarreling, they somehow managed to find their way. The car finally came to a stop at the top of a hill, upon which sat a large, picturesque cottage flanked with dense foliage and a flower garden that would make even Martha Stewart envious.

“Hello!” cried Donna, bursting from the driver’s seat. John and Rose emerged more carefully, the former clutching his queasy stomach and the latter on rather shaky legs.

“Thought you’d never make it!” called out Jack from the porch. Ianto peered over his shoulder, smiling broadly.

“Almost didn’t,” muttered Rose, quietly enough that only John could hear. He managed a brief, appreciative smile, but it disappeared quickly.

_He really doesn’t look good,_ Rose thought with a flash of concern, holding his elbow as they walked up the shady footpath to meet their friends. Was it simply motion sickness, or was he coming down with another bout of the flu?

Ianto noticed, too. “John?”

“H-hi-,” said John, barely getting the greeting out before he slapped his hand over his mouth and lurched towards the shrubbery to empty the contents of his stomach into Jack’s aunt’s pristine rose bushes.

“Oh dear,” exclaimed Ianto.

“Sorry,” John croaked, wiping at his mouth.

“Aunt Carol is going to love that,” said Jack wryly, waving the apology away with a dismissive smile. He looked up at the sky critically, regarding the overcast bluish grey clouds with a shake of his head. It had become dark rather quickly. “Looks like it’s going to come down any second now. We’d better get indoors before it really starts to pour.”

“Yes, let’s get you a glass of water and perhaps some ginger tea, I can rustle up some biscuits, too, if you feel up to it-” Ianto ushered John in, Rose on his other side.

“I’ll fetch your bags for you,” Jack said graciously, with his arm slung around Donna. “But first things first - a drink for the birthday girl.”

“You are an angel,” said Donna reverently.

—–

The sky outside the windows in the showroom kitchen were as dark as ash, and rain pelted against the glass panes hard enough to rattle them.

 

Though quaint on the outside, the inside of the cottage was very modern and full of expensively fitted commodities such as concealed plumbing, plush carpet, and a grey and silver colour scheme. It was like staying at a posh hotel, Rose thought, taking in the surroundings with equal parts pleasure and disappointment. Having been raised in close proximity to London all her life, she’d never experienced a cottage holiday before and had looked forward to a rustic retreat. Still, it was very nice, and she was grateful for having been invited. 

“There’s three guest bedrooms,” their host informed them over greatly appreciated mugs of steaming Irish coffee. “Ianto’s already set himself up in the blue room, so I thought you’d like to take the mint room, Donna.”

“It’s lovely,” Ianto enthused, “With big bay windows and south-facing, so lots of natural sunlight.”

Donna was perfectly amenable to this, of course, and couldn’t wait to get settled in. It was all smashing, except for one detail that came sharply into focus when Ianto added eagerly, “John and Rose can take the room at the top of the stairs, it’s smaller than the others but there’s a king-sized bed in it - the only one in the house!”

Rose, about to set her mug down on the table, froze mid-action. John choked on his ginger tea, coughing so violently it made Ianto hurry across the room to thump him on the back.

“I’m- I’m fine, thank you Ianto,” John managed to say, still wheezing a bit. His eyes slid around to meet Rose’s, a wary, questioning expression in his gaze. It seemed to be asking, _what should we do?_ She looked back at him, uncertain of what to say.

Jack, perceptive as ever in matters that didn’t concern him, noticed the silent by-play. He lifted an eyebrow and asked, “Is there a problem?”

“No,” said Rose, forcing a cheery smile, “No problem at all. It’s- it’s perfect.”


	33. Chapter 33

John set his overnight bag on the carpet with a thump. He rubbed his neck and looked around the small guest room, gaze deliberately avoiding the monster four-poster bed taking centre stage. Meticulously made up in floral-printed sheets - a repeating pattern of roses and vines against a pale background - it seemed incongruously large, far too big for a space this size.

“Couldn’t fit the mattress around the stair landing, I suppose,” Jack had commented, upon showing them to the room. He’d grinned rather lasciviously at them both before departing to find Ianto and spare towels. “It’s your lucky day - I’m in the master bedroom and only have a double.”

Right. _Lucky.  
_

Donna appeared in the doorway and whistled. “Look at the size of that thing. It’s _huge._ I’ve never seen a bed that big!”

When neither of them responded, she snorted. “Look at your faces!”

“It’s not funny, Donna,” John began to say.

“Oh, please!” She rolled her eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, we all live together anyway. It’s not like you’re bunking with a stranger. Rose knows she’s perfectly safe with you - unless you’re planning to grope her in the middle of the night-”

John made an indignant squawk, face going beet red, and Rose said quickly, “Of course I know John isn’t going to-”

“Besides, in that bed? You won’t even know the other’s there! Line up your pillows down the middle or something if you want to preserve your virtue. Honestly, what’s the big deal? What century are we in?”

John grimaced, feeling foolish. Of course, Donna was right. It wasn’t a big deal at all. Rose looked similarly embarrassed, which made him feel slightly better.

“Bit like a sleepover,” she said, giving him a smile. “It might be fun.”

“Exactly. You’ve made your bed-” Donna said flippantly, though inwardly John could tell she was  pleased as punch with her double entendre. “Now lie in it.”

—–

The storm continued all night, and Rose supposed it was as good an excuse as any to be awake in the wee hours of the morning. She lay uncomfortably on her back, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the torrential downpour. Next to her - with almost two feet of space between them - John lay stiffly, his _too_ even breathing letting her know that he, too, wasn’t asleep.

A severe thunderclap startled them both, making Rose twitch in surprise.

“You alright?” John asked, his tone careful and hushed.

“Yeah,” she said, feeling silly. She wasn’t scared of storms or anything like that. “Bit loud, that’s all.”

“Got enough covers on your side?” he asked solicitously. “I’m not hogging, am I?”

“No, I’m- I’m good. Ta.”

God, it was awkward.

“Have you been awake this whole time?” she asked, deciding they might as well admit to their mutual discomfort. Anything was better than lying awake, listening to each other breathe.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Can’t sleep. Strange bed, perhaps.”

“Should we,” she asked, “-y’know, just tell Jack and Ianto the truth?”

John was silent for a moment. Then he replied, “If you like.”

There was no reason, really, to keep up the charade. Jack and Ianto were unlikely to rat them out to Rose’s parents, after all. But it felt odd, to have gone on for this long with the pretense and not follow it through. She couldn’t quite imagine that conversation, anyway:

_Hey, actually, we’re not really dating, we’ve just been lying to you all this time because it was easier than explaining - sorry about that!_

A little voice in her head said, slyly, _that’ll do, for an excuse_. She told it to be quiet, and amended quickly, “I- no, it’d be too awkward. Don’t you think?”

He made a sort of non-committal sound, neither yes or no.

“Ianto would be crushed to find out we’ve been lying to him,” she went on, backpedalling hard. “And what would Jack think?”

John snorted. “He’d try to switch rooms, I’d wager.”

She heard the hint of disgruntlement in his tone, mixed with something else she didn’t want to put a name to. It made her flush.

“Nah,” she said, playing it off coolly. “I reckon he’d try to get into Donna’s-”

“There’s a mental image I didn’t need,” John said disgustedly. “Thanks a lot.”

Rose laughed, she couldn’t help herself. “It’s not that bad! She fancies him!”

“She’s like a sister to me - would _you_ like to think about Jack getting into bed with _your_ \- nevermind, sorry, I take it back, I’m not going to go there.”

She wrinkled her nose, agreeing to the sentiment, and felt John sigh.

“It’s almost 2 AM,” he muttered. “We’re going to be knackered tomorrow. Today. Later.”

“Try counting sheep,” Rose suggested, rolling onto her side. “If you can’t sleep.”

“Well, it might add authenticity to the situation,” he said. She didn’t know what he meant until he added, “They’ve gone to the trouble of giving us this particular bedroom, after all. Don’t think sleeping figured into the plan.”

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, revealing John on his back, hands pressed under his head. She saw that his mouth was quirked up in a smile, but the sight was brief, lasting only seconds before it disappeared again in the darkness. Just like that, the tension was gone, replaced by shared humour at the situation. 

“Be a shame to disappoint them,” Rose quipped, playing along even though she was blushing under the covers. “Shall we bounce and make the bed springs creak?”

“That’s a brilliant idea, but no one would hear it over this din-” he sounded amused nonetheless. Then more seriously he asked, “You are okay, though, aren’t you? With this, I mean?”

“Yes, of course. Like Donna said - it’s no big deal, is it?”

“This bed is plenty big enough for the both of us,” he agreed, and as if to prove a point, he moved his arm, spreading it outwards into the empty space between them.

His hand brushed against hers, raising goose flesh on the skin of her knuckles. Rose resisted the impulse to snatch it away - and, also, the impulse to do the exact opposite. She waited to see if he’d shift his arm, but he didn’t. He left it there, his thumb millimeters away from her own, the warmth of it grazing her fingertips. 

They lay still in the dark that way until sleep overtook them both. When Rose woke the next morning, there was a hand in hers, grip firm and warm.


	34. Chapter 34

The miserable weather continued the next day much to everyone’s dismay. Donna was hugely disappointed, given that it was _the_ big day.

She was not happy to realise she was going to have to spend it stuck inside thanks to a deluge of biblical proportions. The sky seemed to have been ripped apart at the seams and was dumping bucket after bucket of water down onto Wycombe - which meant the outing Jack had planned down at the fancy pub in town that evening would have to be cancelled. He was very sorry about it, as he’d gone to great lengths to hire a local band (whom he deemed brilliant) to serenade them with live music as they dined.

Ianto tried to keep things positive by announcing he was going to bake a birthday cake along with supper. Everyone agreed this was a smashing idea and they all offered to assist him. Unfortunately the kitchen was so small it turned out to be more hindrance than help to have five people bumping into one another.

In the end only Rose and John remained, as they were historically Ianto’s favourite kitchen slaves. Donna and Jack retreated to the den with a deck of cards and could be heard arguing loudly about rules and what was considered cheating and what wasn’t.

“Carpaccio,” Rose was told in the meanwhile, “-requires very thinly sliced cuts of beef, but I couldn’t find a knife sharp enough in this kitchen to do the job properly. So you’ll have to beat your meat into a thin layer.“

“I just can’t tell,” said John, shaking his head slightly.

“What?”

“If you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Doing what on purpose?”

“Nevermind. Carry on.”

It was very difficult for Rose to concentrate on tenderizing her meat when Ianto kept saying things like, “Massage the flavour out of one thing and into the other. The best kitchen tools in the world are your hands!” and John kept snickering. He had been put in charge of making salad out of kale leaves and finely chopped cilantro, and was making a great big mess of it, spilling things everywhere.

“Do try to focus, John” scolded Ianto, “You’re dropping all the kale onto the floor! There’ll be none left by the time supper’s ready!”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll be right back- be careful!” Ianto left the kitchen in search of a mop.

“I’m going to have nightmares of him wearing that apron and shouting at me to ‘Massage the kale! Massage it well!’ by the time this is over,” John grumbled out of the corner of his mouth. “Oi, stop laughing!”

Rose giggled even harder, and swiped at her cheek, leaving a trail of flour across her face. John stuck his tongue out. She returned the gesture. They’d started to engage in an epic war of silly faces when Donna stuck her head into the kitchen, exclaiming, “Someone’s at the door!”

“What? In this weather?”

Rinsing their hands quickly, they joined the others in the entryway, bewildered. The knocking on the door had turned into loud, angry thumping.

“Who on earth could that be?” Ianto wondered, eyes wide.

“Moses, parting the Red Sea?” quipped John, but everyone ignored him.

“Let’s go find out,” said Jack, and opened the front door.

“Finally,” said a familiar, bedraggled voice, “Started thinking we got the wrong place! What took you so long?”

Two people stood on the porch, dripping puddles from their clothing and hair. Martha was huddled in a thin anorak, completely useless against the rain, and Mickey had his arm around her. He was soaked from head to toe.

“Mickey! Martha!” Donna gaped at them, so surprised by their arrival she completely forgot to sulk. “Come in - you’re drenched!”

“I thought you weren’t coming,” said Jack, stepping aside to let them in. “Here, take off your coats-”

They were wet underneath, too, and Ianto quickly ran to fetch something for them to dry off with.

“The roads are flooded,” said Mickey gruffly, accepting the towel Ianto handed to him when he returned. “We abandoned our rental car in the woods and came the rest of the way up by foot.”

“Apparently, it was by sea,” said Donna, giving Martha a hug. She seemed rather touched by their surprise entrance. “Poor things. You must be freezing!”

“C-couldn’t m-miss your b-birthday, c-could we?” Martha replied, teeth chattering. She noticed Rose and offered her a polite smile. “H-hello.”

“Hi,” said Rose, as John swept past her. He’d scooped up a woolly throw from the sofa in the den and silently offered it up to Martha.

She accepted it from him, looking slightly surprised by the thoughtful gesture. “Thanks.”

He immediately stepped back, retreating behind Rose again. She felt like a human shield, and a very meagre one at that - John’s gaze was fixated on the back of her head, as if he could see through it straight to Martha’s face. She moved away, mumbling about having to use the loo while the newcomers were fawned over and ushered in.

—–

Supper was duly administered to all, including the two unexpected guests. The food was delicious (even the salad got compliments, much to John’s secret pleasure) and went a long way in boosting the birthday girl’s mood. Once they finished eating the presents were brought out, which cheered her up even further. She _loved_ the earrings.

Jack gave her a bouquet of flowers, which was a lovely addition to his already generous hosting of the party. Ianto had bought Donna a lovely cashmere scarf, in a shade of purple that reminded Rose of greek togas. A gift certificate from Harrod’s was Martha’s gift. She apologised for the impersonal nature of it, but it had been rather last minute. Donna waved the apology away.

“So,” Jack began, voicing what they were all wondering, “What shall we do for the rest of the evening?”

“Dunno. Not much to do, is there?”

“There’s a dvd player in the den,” Jack offered.

“What films have you got?” asked Mickey.

“Mostly older ones. Aunt Carol likes old Hollywood, Clark Gable, Gone with the Wind - that kind of thing.”

The flicker of interest in Mickey’s gaze faded. “Oh.”

“Well, actually,” Ianto said, getting to his feet, “I do have a back-up plan.”

Donna perked up a little. “What is it?”

“I’ll be right back!” He disappeared from the kitchen and returned moments later, clutching something behind his back.

“I hope it’ll be alright,” Ianto said shyly, looking like he was going to burst from the excitement of holding in whatever it was he had prepared. “I didn’t think we’d get to use it, because Jack’s idea was obviously going to be the more widely accepted one-”

Behind him, Jack rolled his eyes, as if this were a speech he’d heard a million times before. Rose bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Still, I thought maybe if we had time after the festivities, we might be able to give it a try-”

“-Just spit it out, mate,” said John. “Anything’s better than sitting around twiddling our thumbs.”

From behind his back, Ianto drew into sight a stack of large white envelopes, each with a number written on the front.

“What’s that?”

“Your character descriptions,” he answered, positively beaming. “I wrote them up myself, but not to worry - I edited them _very_ carefully.”

“Huh?”

“You pick one each,” he said, “And go to your rooms and get dressed. I realise it’s short notice, but try to do your best to get into character.”

Donna put her hands on her hips. “Ianto, what on earth are you talking about? What is this?”

“Oh! Sorry!” He blushed, embarrassed by his failure to properly explain in lieu of his eagerness. He handed her the first envelope, eyes gleaming like a child’s on Christmas Day. “It’s a Murder Mystery Party, and you’re going to be Agatha Christie!”


	35. Chapter 35

**Cast of Characters**

_Agatha Christie - Donna Noble_  
Colonel Curbishley - John Smith  
Miss Chandrakala - Rose Tyler  
Lady Eddison - Mickey Smith  
Roger Curbishley - Jack Harkness  
The Unicorn/Robina Redmond - Martha Jones  
Professor Peach - Ianto Jones  
Reverend Golightly - Ianto Jones  
The Butler - Ianto Jones  
Author - Ianto Jones

—–

_Surrey, Donna’s Twenty-Fifth Birthday, 7:30 PM_

Donna swept into the den dramatically, wearing a party frock - the one she’d brought for the intended pub fête - and drawled, “Good evening all! I have finally arrived!”

Sitting stiffly on the sofa with a crimson ladies’ fedora perched on his head (borrowed from Aunt Carol’s closet) and one leg crossed over the other in demure facsimile of posh-ness, Mickey replied in sepulchral tones, “Good evening, Mrs. Christie. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Oh, spiffing, top-hole!” said Donna loudly, in what she clearly considered an upper crust British accent. “What a jolly good party!”

Someone snorted, just beyond the door. 

“Thank you,” said Mickey flatly. He wasn’t exactly happy with the role he’d been cast in and looked like he wanted to go drown himself outside. “And you, Reverend Golightly. You too.”

“Indeed, indeed, Lady Eddison!” said Ianto, beaming widely. He was the only person dressed properly in character, having previously procured a black suit and clerical collar. “I’m delighted to be here!”

Lady Eddison glanced down at his cue cards, “Miss - uhm - Chandrakala-” and looked at Rose, who stood next to his chair, hands folded in her lap, “Please, uh,  inform the Colonel and Professor Peach that our guests have arrived.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Rose, curtsying. Ianto smiled approvingly at her as she pretended to leave, hovering just beyond the door to wait for her next cue.

The card in her back pocket said, _Redmond, Roger, and Curbishley enter._

Accordingly, Martha, Jack and John filed into the room. Martha had a silk scarf wrapped around herself and Jack had donned a golf vest. John was wearing his usual clothing plus a polka-dotted tie, which must have been itchy, because he kept scratching at his neck. 

Rose waited until they ran through their lines before dashing back in, feigning panic. She clutched her throat and cried, “Murder! Murder! Professor Peach - _in the library_!”

—–

_The ‘Library’, 7:45 PM_

Ianto lay supine on the floor of the master bedroom, which had been designated ‘the library’ since it held wall-to-wall bookshelves. His eyes were closed. There was no murder weapon in sight, though John expected there would be a lead pipe under the desk upon closer inspection.

(“We’re a bit short of people, actually, this mystery is meant for 8-10 individuals, so I’ll do double duty and play the corpse.”)

“How utterly awful,” drawled Martha, in a rather impressive impression of a 1920’s socialite. “Poor - oh, what did you say his name was? Plum?”

“Peach,” hissed the corpse out of the corner of its mouth. How very odd.

“Who could have done this?” Mickey asked in a monotone.

“Never fear, darling,” said Lord Curbishley (aka John), laying a hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “The most esteemed Mrs. Agatha Christie is among our guests, remember! She’ll get to the bottom of this!”

The corpse sat up. “Where _is_ Agatha?”

—–

_The Kitchen, 7:59 PM_

“Alright, alright, I was just in the loo,” muttered the esteemed Lady Detective And Novelist, who had left the upstairs bathroom to find everyone shouting for her. She’d given the ‘body’ a cursory glance, decidedly unimpressed. Everyone went downstairs, including the body, who took up the rear.

With her hands on her hips, she asked, “What’s going on now?”

“Stage Two,” Jack informed her.

“What’s that?”

“Supper is ready,” interrupted the Butler - played by Ianto, of course. “Please take your seats, ladies and gentlemen.”

Leftover cake was served for realism, even though no one was particularly hungry as they’d already eaten. The Butler set the last plate down and scurried away. They’d barely had two bites each of birthday cake when the kitchen was plunged into darkness. Someone yelped. Someone else giggled.

John asked, “Er, did a fuse just blow, or is this part of the activities?”

“Not to worry,” said a voice, emerging from the cellar door. “3, 2, 1-”

The lights came back on. There was a pause. Mickey blinked, recalling he had lines to deliver. Fumbling in the pocket of his jeans, he fished out a crumpled cue card and read from it. “My necklace. Oh no. It’s gone.”

“Stolen!” gasped Jack. Er, Roger Curbishley, that was.

“Wait, now there’s _two_ crimes?”

“Yes, of course - everyone knows that every good mystery has a subplot!”

“Right, silly me.”

“You did read the introduction, didn’t you? It was all outlined very clearly in the introduction-”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Donna vaguely.

—–

_The ‘Drawing Room’, 8:15 PM_

“Any idea yet who did it?”

“No.”

“What about the theft?”

“No.”

“Do you think they’re related? I’m not saying they are, but-”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Not even a little bit? You really should have examined the body in the Library, Agatha, I think you would have found that extremely enlightening-”

Donna scowled. “Where did everyone disappear to, anyway?”

“I’ve sent them to their rooms to await your questioning, ma’am,” Ianto replied. It was not clear which character he was supposed to be now, if any at all.

“Great. S’pose I’d better start on that, hadn’t I?”

She opened the first door on the landing without knocking. John and Martha looked up from where they sat on the bed, identical expressions of surprise on their faces.

Donna cried, “I got it! Curbishley is having an affair with Robina Redmond! He killed Professor Peach because Professor Peach found out and all this is to silence him!”

“You’re not supposed to be there!” Ianto said, looking distressed. “You’ve gone off script!”

John’s ears went red at the tips.  “We’re not-”

The door to the next room opened, and Mickey emerged, Rose following him out. Her eyes were wide, taking in everything.

Donna pointed. “Your husband is having an affair, Lady Eddison!”

Mickey seemed remarkably unperturbed by this revelation. Still, he managed, “How could you?”

“This is not in the script!” Ianto said again. Everyone looked at him. “John- I mean- Lord Curbishley, you’re supposed to be in the Library, looking at naughty periodicals! And Robina-”

“So he’s _not_ the killer?” Donna asked, disappointed. “Does that mean I have to keep playing?”


	36. Chapter 36

_The Upstairs Hall, 9:02 PM_

“Go on, you’re ever so plucky-”

“Shut up, I’m busy detecting here and you’re ruining my concentration!”

“Ooh, _sorry_ , Agatha.”

Donna threw him a contemptuous look. She’d traded one annoying sidekick for another, it seemed - John had taken Ianto’s place shortly after the latter had been banished from her side. (“Quit backseat investigating, will ya?” He’d put up both hands palms outward in surrender, and went away to plant more clues.)

“Apologized, did you? Worked up the nerve at last?”

There was no need for priors. John knew what she was talking about. He scuffed his shoe on the carpet and shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And?”

He shrugged again.

“Spill it.”

The smile came out then, wide and relieved and just a little bit daft. It was that bit of daft, Donna thought, that made her itch to slap him upside the head sometimes, even as it invoked feelings of motherly concern she didn’t like to admit to. He was so hopeless one couldn’t help it.

“She forgave me. Said she had, ages ago, just like you said. Water under the bridge. All sorted. I can barely believe it!”

“Good,” said Donna, somehow managing to resist saying _I told you so_. She’d endured nearly an entire year of his wallowing in guilt every time the subject of Martha came up. Not to mention his utter stupidity in regards to Rose thanks to the lingering angst - now that, _that_ was going to be a headache once he got his head out of his arse and came to his senses. “One down, one more to go.”

“Huh?”

She thought of Rose standing in the hall watching John spring away from Martha and wondered why she put up with them at all.

Obliviousness was one thing. Denial was another. Together they made a completely impenetrable defense, enough to make any onlooker lose her patience and want to shake some sense into the both of them. It was a desire that gripped her often, especially when she watched them make cow eyes at each other over their cereal bowls in the mornings or chips in the evening. She had to physically restrain herself sometimes from shouting ‘Just snog already!’ - except that _had_ happened and they’d somehow managed to rationalize it away. Or perhaps they were just pretending it had never occurred? She wasn’t sure on that count.

But maybe now that this business with Martha was resolved, some progress might actually be made. She wasn’t holding her breath, though.

“Let’s see what’s in here, shall we?”

Donna reached for the doorknob of the Master bedroom. It swung open- John blinked, stunned by what he saw.

“Oh! Sorry!” Donna gasped, and slammed the door shut.

There was silence.

“Blimey,” said John. “I don’t think they even noticed.Was that-” He paused. “-part of the, um, script?”

“I don’t think so.” Something like disappointment filled her, but Donna shrugged it off. She’d known from the beginning that Jack was too good to be true, anyway.

“Typical! All the decent men are on the other bus!”

John looked like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t come up with anything to say. Donna sighed.

“Oh well. I suppose if it had to be anyone else, at least it was Ianto.” Then she scowled. “That makes me the only single person attending this party! _Ugh._ ”

—–

_The Living Room, Just After Midnight_

“I give up,” said Donna, slumping against the wall. “It’s been three hours! This case is unsolvable!”

“You’re sure you don’t want to think about it some more?”

“No,” said Donna, firmly.

“Anyone else want to give it a go?” Ianto looked hopefully around.

“ _No_ ,” said several voices in unison. Six knackered faces gazed back at him. Ianto deflated slightly.

“You’re the genius author of it all,” said Jack, lounging rumpled on the sofa and making Ianto blush, “Enlighten us.”

John caught Donna’s eye. She returned his look. They kept their silence.

“If you insist,” Ianto said in a dramatic tone. “I’ll start with the lesser mystery - Lady Eddison’s necklace was stolen by the Unicorn!”

“Sorry, the _what_?”

“The Unicorn!”

“What unicorn?” John asked, puzzled.

“It was in your letters! Clearly stated - one of the guests is a jewel thief who goes by that moniker!” Their blank expressions revealed the truth. Ianto’s face fell. “No one read their detailed character file?”

“Mate, mine was thirty four pages and you wanted to start the game in five minutes,” John pointed out. “I mean, I’m a pretty fast reader but Donna couldn’t have got through it-”

“Oi.”

“Just tell us,” said Mickey. “Was it me?”

“No.”

“Phew.”

“Was it me?” Rose asked.

“Don’t be silly, what motive could you possibly have? You’re a loyal servant, nothing more!”

Martha chimed in, “Maybe I did it! Did the Professor catch me stealing the necklace?”

“No, he died before you committed the crime, remember?” said Ianto, frowning.

“Oh, right.”

“Was it Curbishley?” John piped up. “He seemed very suspicious.”

“You’re supposed to be accusing others, not yourselves,” Ianto bemoaned. “And no, John, it wasn’t you, either!”

“So it was him?” Donna pointed at Jack. “Roger?”

“No!”

They all looked at each other, and then back at Ianto.

“Er,” began John, “That’s everyone accounted for, then, isn’t it? You can’t possibly mean to say _Agatha Christie_ did the killing!”

Ianto leapt to his feet, unable to take it anymore.

“No!” he cried, “No one did it, you see! It was the sting - Professor Peach was highly allergic to wasp poison!” He pulled down his shirt collar to reveal a red mark. “Now, if you’d checked the body in the Library, you would have seen this clue- that’s why it’s called The Unicorn and the Wasp!”

This revelation was met with stunning silence.

(“Is that what it’s called?” Mickey muttered under his breath to Martha, “I thought it was called _kill me with my soup spoon so I can stop playing this game_ -” Martha elbowed him, he shut up.)

Ianto, who hadn’t heard, beamed with pride and  clasped his hands together. “Felled by stinger!”

“I’ll give you a stinger,” muttered Donna, pushing away from the wall.

“Eh?”

“Happy Birthday!” John interjected hurriedly, placing himself between Ianto and a scowling Agatha Christie.

He caught Rose’s eye, hoping she’d take the hint and leap in to help him keep Donna from pulverizing Ianto. But strangely enough, she didn’t, and furthermore he had the distinct impression she looked away on purpose, avoiding his gaze.


	37. Chapter 37

Mickey and Martha were put up in the room that had previously been Ianto’s, who in turn moved onto a cot in the master bedroom with Jack. For some reason this made Donna and John snicker, though Rose couldn’t for the life of her figure out why it was funny. 

A second night of fitful dozing beside John in the four poster bed made her feel tetchy and unsettled in the morning. She tried to keep her bad mood to herself, resisting the urge to snap at anyone who greeted her. She was doing well, until Jack opened the curtains in the kitchen and said, “Let’s go hiking!”

The rain had subsided overnight, leaving clear blue skies in it’s wake. Sunshine burned through the morning mist and dried up all evidence that the village had lived through what had practically been a small tsunami. It was a shame, really, that idyllic weather had only come on their last day in the countryside.  

“Must we?” Donna yawned, not particularly moved by Jack’s suggestion.

“Oh yes, that’s a splendid idea!”

“Is it?” John yawned this time.

“You city slickers,” said Martha, teasingly.

“Like you’re not,” John replied mildly, eyebrow cocked.

Martha shrugged, acknowledging the hypocrisy of her statement, and they smiled amiably at one another.

Right. Whatever had happened between them last night during the party had clearly eased the tension in their relationship. Rose glanced at Mickey to see how he was taking this newfound camaraderie, but he seemed completely oblivious to it.

Jack continued, “There’s a beautiful trail just west of the village leading up the south bank - at the top there’s supposedly a bench that bestows good fortune to the people who manage to get up there and sit on it. Aunt Carol says she married Uncle Joshua after he took her up and snogged her on the seat. Probably did more than snog, if you ask me.”

He smiled winningly. “Come on, a little sunshine will do you Londoners good.”

—–

They embarked shortly after breakfast, taking a scenic route along the road leading to the Chapel. It wound around the place and then up a rather steep hill. The going was a bit tough on the muddy trail, leftovers of the inclement weather, but they did their best.

Perhaps it was simply lethargy from a restless night of unsatisfying sleep, but Rose was slower than usual and stumbled over her steps. She lagged behind the others - everyone suddenly seemed so annoyingly athletic. Martha and Mickey discussed their couple workout, Jack boasted about his weight training, Donna chimed in with her pilates (Rose had _never_ seen her doing pilates, ever) and even Ianto mentioned something about rugby. In fact they were all being really competitive about it.

All she could scrounge up was _Jericho Street Junior School - Under Sevens Gymnastic Team_ , bronze which would just be embarrassing to say aloud, considering it had been well over a decade since she’d been ‘under seven’.

John was the only other person in their group who didn’t seem to do anything fitness related. Still, he fared better than Rose with his long stride and enthusiasm, even leading the pack at some points. He slowed down, however, when he noticed she was having difficulty keeping up.

“Go on,” he called to Donna and Jack, “I’m winded - going to take a quick breather.”

“We’ll wait for you at the Chapel,” called Donna over her shoulder.

He wasn’t in the least bit winded, Rose thought, vaguely annoyed. If he was trying to do her a favour she didn’t need it. She muttered, “I’m fine.”

“I know, but take a rest anyway. You didn’t sleep well last night, did you? And you picked at your breakfast - what’s wrong? Feeling unwell?”

Rose shook her head, inexplicably irritated by this kind gesture.

John sat down on a nearby felled log, and patted the space next to him. Stiffly Rose lowered herself, bum hitting the cold dead bark, wondering if she could make some excuse to go back to the cottage alone. It wouldn’t be a complete lie - she did feel sort of sick.

While she pondered this possibility, John started chatting in the way he did when he felt uncomfortable; filling the air with his voice to drown out the silence.

Rose bit her lower lip and worried it between her teeth, focusing on the tops of her shoes.

She really didn’t know what made her do it.

John was telling her something about refractory light and the effects of sudden rainwater on photosynthesis in perennial plants. Not his field of study, but _blah blah blah blah blah_ … she was barely listening, and only reacted when Martha’s name came up in his impromptu lecture.

And then, abruptly, she heard herself saying, “You’re in love with her.”

He stopped mid-sentence. “I beg your pardon?”

“Martha-” she threw all caution to the wind, “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

He looked at her in shock. _“What?”_

“You can tell me the truth.”

“What?” There was definite alarm in his tone this time, as well as bewilderment. “No. No, I’m not in love with Martha.”

_Not now? Or not ever?_

“It’s- well, I just thought-”

“What?” he asked for the third time, completely staggered.

Suddenly she wondered if perhaps she’d got it all wrong. But the side glances, the unexplained tension, the way his face got all funny whenever Martha was mentioned… what else could it be? She knew Martha had once lived under John’s roof. She knew something had happened to make her move out. A difference of opinion, Donna had implied, but more likely it had been one of feelings…

“Last night. You were alone with her-” Rose shrugged, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks as she stammered under the weight of his fascinated stare. She licked her abused bottom lip, and said, “I mean… you’re always so tense around her… and it’s obvious there’s history between the two of you.”

His brow furrowed, and he slid his fingers into his hair, ruffling it nervously until at last he spoke.

“Obvious, was it? I suppose it was - Donna’s right. I’m no good at hiding things.” John smiled self-deprecatingly. “Yes. That is, there is history. Something did happen.”

Rose tried to keep her voice even as she spoke. “Did she… turn you down?”

Shaking his head slightly, he replied, “No. If you must know-”

(Yes, she thought.)

“-I turned _her_ down.”


	38. Chapter 38

Rose and John rejoined the others at the fork in the trail, merging back into the group. The apex was pretty when they reached it, but nothing remarkable aside from the view at the top of the hill. There was no lover’s bench at all, which made Jack curse mildly and everyone else laugh.

In her distraction, she barely noticed that Mickey strolled alongside her on the way back down, his baseball cap pulled low to keep the bright sunshine out of his eyes. He seemed to sense her inner conflict and did not try to engage her in conversation.

She was busy mulling over what she had learned about John and Martha’s past, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was that was bothering her so much about the whole affair. No matter how hard she thought, however, the answer eluded her. 

Martha had been madly in love with John. Like Rose, she’d answered an advertorial, coming to live in the little house with him and Donna the previous year. She had fallen, hard, and John had let things go too far, refusing to outright reject her out of fear of hurting her feelings. When he’d finally admitted that he didn’t feel the same way, Martha had been crushed, had accused him of leading her on for months.

It was all too easy to imagine this scenario playing out. John was undeniably attractive and worse, always a gentleman, always going out of his way to be a wonderful, loyal friend. It was not surprising Martha had mistaken his friendship for more. If John had not given Rose the ‘no fraternizing’ talk, as abruptly and rudely as he had, she might have had the same misunderstanding, eventually. 

Her thoughts circled around this last bullet point, round and round and round, fruitless and confounding. Finally Rose gave up, and with a sigh, returned her attention to her surroundings.

“Welcome back,” Mickey said with a knowing smile. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” she replied, wishing he didn’t know her so well. A bit curtly, she asked, “Why are you walking with me? You should be up there with your girlfriend.”

“She’s fine.”

The way he said it made Rose feel like he was implying she wasn’t. Which was just _annoying_. She tried a different tactic. “How’d you meet, anyway?”

“Friend of a friend of a friend.”

“Oh. Just like that, eh? Was it love at first sight?”

“On my end, yup. Totally. On her end… let’s just say it wasn’t easy.”

“Yeah?”

“It took me a long time to figure it out,” said Mickey. “I thought she just didn’t like me at first. But apparently she didn’t think _I_ liked _her_.” Rose gave him a look, and he smirked. “Yeah. I know. Me. Mister subtle-as-a-brick.”

She thought of him at fifteen, walking her home every day after school, buying her sweets, insisting on carrying her bag wherever they went - unashamedly broadcasting his feelings at full volume. There had been no doubt whatsoever that Mickey had been in love with Rose back then. He wasn’t the type to prevaricate or beat about the bushes - if he fancied a girl, he let her know.

It had seemed so unsophisticated to her at the time, but now she found it sweet, and wished she’d appreciated him more during their short time together. Blokes, experience had taught her, weren’t always so straightforward.

“How’d you convince her to go out with you?”

“Same way I convinced you,” he said, teeth flashing. “Sheer stubbornness.”

Rose smiled back. “Good for you. Martha’s lucky.”

“Nah. She’s way out of my league.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You know it’s true.” Then he said, offhandedly, “Your bloke did a number on her, you know.”

Rose looked down at her nails, the tips worn ragged from being bitten. She couldn’t deny the ‘your bloke’ bit, though she dearly wanted to. She thought of John and his guilty conscience, and opened her mouth to defend him. But what could she say that wouldn’t sound insensitive? He _had_ led Martha on, he’d admitted as much himself.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Be careful,” Mickey advised.

“What?” She threw him an incredulous look. “Of John? Come off it, he’s not- he’s not _bad_.”

“From what Martha told me, he’s absolutely wonderful until you get too close. That’s when you get burned.”

Rose stared at him, irritated. “What is that supposed to mean?”  

“Look,” he paused, and then tried again in a more placating voice, “I’m not trying to start trouble between the two of you or anything-”

“Really?”

He ignored her sarcastic dig. “Yeah, really. Martha was really hurt. He made her feel like second best, like she wasn’t good enough. She says he didn’t mean to - but still.” Mickey shrugged. “Martha is the smartest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” He added as an afterthought, “Apart from you, I mean.”

He didn’t go on, but he didn’t need to. Rose understood what he was trying to say. Girls like Martha were the ones who went around breaking hearts, not the other way around. If even Martha hadn’t been enough to meet John’s bewilderingly high standards, then who could?

A heavy weight settled in her stomach at the thought, and she realised then that this was at the crux of what was making her melancholy-

“Oi! Watch your step-”

Mickey’s sharp, sudden warning came a fraction of a second too late. Rose tripped. She landed, rather painfully, on her backside - right on her tailbone. Tears stung at her eyes.

John’s face appeared suddenly above her blurred field of vision, blocking Mickey out. “Rose! Are you alright?”

“No,” she uttered, feeling her heart sink in her chest.

“I’ll help you up,” he said, his eyes kind and filled with concern. He took her hand in his own, his skin as warm as it had been that morning she’d woken up to find herself holding it.

She tried to tell herself _no_ , tried to remind herself sternly that this was exactly what she’d been trying to guard herself against all this time-

It was too late.


	39. Chapter 39

Rose found herself unable to meet John’s gaze the entire way back to the cottage. Her bottom ached, she felt weak in the knees, and John wouldn’t let go of her hand in case she fell again.

_Fat chance_ , she thought miserably. She’d already fallen.

Rose now knew the reason behind her discontent these last few days and her uncharacteristic feelings of animosity towards Martha, whom she’d only met a couple of times. It was excruciating. She didn’t dare look at him, afraid the truth would be visible in her expression if she wasn’t careful. 

John said, “Watch your step, Rose-” and guided her around a puddle she hadn’t noticed at all, even with her eyes trained to the ground. She was painfully aware of her shoulder grazing his arm, and quickly inched away, even though she couldn’t really go anywhere when he held onto her hand.

He might as well wear a big neon sign that read, DO NOT TOUCH. That was how far off-limits he was. Adding to her humiliation was the fact that it was self-imposed, which meant Rose couldn’t even blame it on a rival for his affections, or outside circumstances. John just wasn’t interested, and if she wanted to keep on living in the same house, she had to keep her feelings to herself or get rid of them somehow.

The latter seemed impossible - how had this happened? How could she feel this way without realising it sooner? She tried to pinpoint an exact moment in time, as if knowing when she’d developed romantic feelings for John could somehow absolve them.

Meanwhile he was blissfully unaware, happily clasping her hand, playing the fake boyfriend persona to perfection.

_This_ , she thought angrily - because she’d moved on from disbelief and shock and self-blame to anger - _this_ was how he’d fooled Martha. This was how he’d broken her heart.

Rose pulled her hand free and muttered, “I’m fine, thanks.”

—–

The plan was to have lunch and depart for London afterwards. Rose didn’t have much of an appetite but exercise had left everyone else ravenous.

Jack had called for a cab - she couldn’t believe he was willing to pay for it, surely the fare would be astronomical - and had some time to kill before it arrived. They opted to wait with him, largely because having eaten so much everyone was in a food-induced stupor. No one wanted to embark on the long drive yet, Donna especially.

Someone had the brilliant idea to start a game of truth or dare. Half the group groaned, John and Martha claiming it juvenile, while the other half enthusiastically supported the notion. Other half being mainly Jack and Donna.

Donna went first, daring Jack to lick the bannister. He did it. Jack dared her to do the same in return. She did it. Martha asked Mickey what his favourite thing about her was; he said ‘everything’, earning him loud boos and awws simultaneously.

Then it was Rose’s turn. Donna gestured openly at John, who was playing a game on his phone, completely disinterested in the proceedings.

“Truth or dare?” she asked.

John hesitated only briefly before replying, “Truth.”

“Scaredy-cat,” jeered Donna.

She found that she was still angry at him, and seeing him with his mobile in hand reminded her of all the other things she didn’t have an answer for. Why did he have to be so… so… difficult? Why did she have to fancy him?

“Who keeps calling you?” Rose blurted out.

“Eh?” John’s smile slipped. Behind him, Donna’s eyes lit up, and she gave Rose two approving thumbs up.

“These last few weeks, you’ve been disappearing every time someone rings you up,” she continued doggedly. “Who is it? Where are you going?”

Donna was absolutely gleeful. “Yeah, where have you been disappearing to? Tell the truth!”

He mumbled something.

“What?”

“Pete,” he said, this time in a louder voice.

After a beat, Rose repeated, “Pete? As in… my dad, Pete?”

Donna looked appalled. “What are you doing sneaking around with Rose’s dad behind her back?!”

“We’re not sneaking around!” John shot back hotly. “He’s just got a side business developing a line of health drinks!”

Rose stared at him. “Yeah, so?”

John went back to mumbling. “Well, sometimes - sometimes he rings me up. And I, I go over to your house. Y’know. To taste-test his new recipes. Different flavour combinations. Carbonation levels. Etcetera.”

“Really?” Donna asked interestedly, “Are they good?”

John said carefully, “They’re… creative. Unusual. Exotic.”

She thought of all the times he’d come back looking ill and was simultaneously baffled and touched. “But you never said a word! And dad, he made you go all the way out to-”

“He didn’t make me-” said John quickly, but Rose knew better. Flushing, he mumbled, “How was I supposed to say no? He thinks we- I mean, I’m your boyfriend, after all. His good opinion matters.”

Rose felt her own cheeks go pink. “But… I don’t understand… why would you keep that a secret?”

“Yeah,” asked Jack, eyebrow raised. “Why _would_ you keep that secret? If you wanted to score points with her-”

“I wasn’t trying to score points,” John replied, frowning, seeming offended by the very idea. “I was just being a good boyfriend.”

Donna watched the exchange keenly, a smile playing on her lips. Rose didn’t know what to think. The anger she’d felt had disappeared, replaced by even more confusion.

John tugged at his hair and offered up a small, anxious smile. “On the bright side, I think Tony is warming up to me now. Even if he still calls me _Doctor_.”


	40. Chapter 40

It was time for action.

“Dad,” she said over the line, “Stop ringing John up - he’s not your guinea pig!”

“He volunteered, sweetheart. Besides, he’s getting free drinks out of it!”

“You’re making him sick!”

“Rose,” said her father, sounding hurt.

Firmly, she repeated, “Leave him alone, Dad.”

“But how else am I going to get to see him? You barely visit us!”

Rose stared at her mobile, disgusted. Had everyone in her family fallen head over heels for John? Tony apparently worshiped the ground he walked on now, thanks to multiple visits and a toy dinosaur gift on each occasion. Jackie was constantly texting Rose, asking her how that handsome boyfriend of hers was doing, and now her father - the one person who hadn’t seemed impressed - was complaining about not getting to spend time with him. The world had gone mad. Mad, mad, mad. 

She was trying to come up with a suitable response to convey her feelings on the subject that didn’t consist of rude words when the object of the Tyler family obsession came knocking on her bedroom door.

“Hi,” he said.

Rose covered her phone with her hand. “Hi.”

“Oh, sorry, I hadn’t realised you were on the phone-”

“S’okay. Just talking to my dad.”

“Oh, well, I’ll let you finish-”

“I was just telling him to stop bothering you.”

His eyes widened. “It’s not a bother!”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed in disbelief.

He said simply, “I like your family.”

A retort was on the tip of her tongue, but when she looked up to deliver it, she registered the way his eyes were glued to his feet, and how his fingers nervously played with the hair at the back of his head. When he stood that way, posture slightly bent, he reminded Rose of a lost little boy. A boy with no family of his own.

Her defenses fell and she wanted to hug him. It wasn’t fair, especially when she was reminded of Mickey hugging her goodbye at the cottage, saying into her ear, “Hey, what I said before- don’t worry about it.”

He’d looked past her at John, who had been loading luggage into the boot of their rented car. “Anyone who’s willing to hang out with your dad is a braver man than me.”

Well, she wouldn’t think too deeply about that. John was just a good friend and perhaps - lonely. She didn’t want to think of it as him using her, but if he was, it was alright. She was using him too, in a way, to keep her parents in the dark about her living arrangements.

Recalling she still had her father on the line, “Dad, I’ll call you back later. Love you. Bye.”

“Is that-?” Pete started to say, but Rose had already rung off.

“Sorry,” said John, looking embarrassed. “I interrupted your call.”

She wanted to tell him not to apologize, but couldn’t muster up the energy. She also wanted to apologize herself for the way she’d treated him in the days since they’d returned from Surrey, cold and distant and avoiding him whenever she could. Because it wasn’t fair of her to be angry at him for not reciprocating her feelings, was it? He’d made it very clear from the beginning - and Rose had accepted those terms. There was nothing for it except to do her best to squash her feelings of attraction to him.

Because it was _just_ physical attraction, she’d decided. Nothing more. She’d reverted to her old ways, had her head turned by a pretty face, despite her vows to remain single and unencumbered by the messy entanglements of getting involved with boys. John had caught her unawares, but she’d fight back.

It oughtn’t be too difficult. Rose had never pined for anyone, not even Jimmy Stone, who had certainly been the prettiest of pretty boys and knew what sort of clothes went best on his wannabe rock-star frame. John, on the other hand, was the worst dresser she had ever seen and his hair always looked like it had never met a comb in his entire life. Even now, in the middle of the day, he was still barefoot and wearing his oldest pair of threadbare pajamas.

“Never mind,” she said, pasting what she hoped was a bright smile on her face. “But you’ll tell me, won’t you, if Dad starts pestering you again?”

He nodded. She was one hundred percent certain he was lying through his perfectly straight, noticeably white teeth.

—–

He was sabotaging her.

Not more than an hour later she went downstairs to fetch a glass of water and something to snack on while she studied for an upcoming test, only to collide with John, who’d just emerged from his own room.

She almost dropped her crisps. He bent to pick them up for her.

“What are you doing?” she screeched.

John froze, packet in hand. “Er- you dropped these, so I-”

“Not that,” Rose said in a strangled voice, “I mean the-”

At her words, John straightened, noticing where her gaze was fixated at last. “Oh, you mean this getup.”

He rubbed at his neck, taking in her nonplussed staring, and asked a bit anxiously, “Is it- is it not good, then? I’m going to a classmate’s wedding, and this is all I could find.”

When she didn’t reply right away he tugged at the hem of his pinstriped suit jacket and grimaced. It was tailored to his lanky body and fit him perfectly, making him seem taller and leaner than usual. His hair had been tamed, too, the wild strands molded into an attractive quiff above his well-groomed sideburns.

Rose wrenched her eyes away and glared at the refrigerator as if it were to blame for this.

“Right,” John intoned morosely, “Well, too late to do anything about it now. I have to go. See you later, then.”

As he walked away, his tight trousers bunched slightly over his bum - she looked, she couldn’t help it. Once he was gone, Rose collapsed into a chair and banged her head against the kitchen table.


	41. Chapter 41

“Is it just me,” John asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, “Or has Rose been acting a bit, erm, strange, lately?”

“Strange how?”

“Dunno.”

“She seems normal to me,” Donna replied, handing him a plate of beans on toast, the extent of her culinary abilities. To be fair, she did beans on toast very well.

He thought of the odd behaviour that spanned the entire week - starting with the phone conversation with Pete. Since then she’d been withdrawn and quiet, spending most of her time out of the house or in her bedroom with her door closed. Two nights ago he’d bumped into her in the hallway as he emerged from the shower and she had gone beet red and rushed back to her room as if her life depended on it. It was very odd. 

John also found himself missing the morning routine they shared, sometimes, on weekdays before classes. When he made his tea, he brewed her a cup too, and she returned the favour by sharing her favourite cereal with him - Kellogg’s Coco Pops, sugary enough to rot all his teeth before he turned thirty (not that he complained about it). Rose hadn’t been around for days, leaving the house early without eating breakfast.

It was almost as if she were avoiding him. But why on earth would she do that?

“I haven’t seen her around, much,” he said. “Where is she, by the way?”

“Studying, probably. She’s got a load of tests coming up, I reckon. Said something about cramming at the pub with her coursemates.”

“Oh.”

He pretended not to notice the intense scrutiny Donna was giving him over her toast.

She said, between bites, “What did you do?”

John frowned. “What do you mean, what did I do?”

“You’ve got that face on, the frowny one, when you’re feeling guilty or whatever. What did you say to her?”

“Nothing!”

She looked unconvinced. “Then why do you look so worried?”

“I’m not worried.”

“Okay.”

They chewed in silence for a bit, until finally he couldn’t take it anymore. “D’you reckon she’s upset?”

“You did do something!”

“No, I meant - you know, about Pete. And the drinks.”

He’d thought long and hard about it, trying to figure out if he’d done something to offend her - but the only thing he could think of was perhaps she was bothered by  the discovery of his illicit activities with Pete in the Tyler shed. That seemed unlikely, though. She hadn’t seem angry about it, just… surprised, and very insistent that he didn’t have to go out of his way to cater to her family. He didn’t mind, though - he kind of liked spending time with them, as odd as that might sound.

“Aside from it being weird because you kept it a secret, I don’t see why she’d be annoyed about that. Unless she thinks you’re trying to steal her family or something.” Donna paused. “This isn’t some weird self-insertion fantasy you’re living out, is it?”

He scowled at her, letting her know exactly what he thought of that comment without words.

Donna sternly returned the look and said, “If it bothers you so much, ask her yourself.”

—–

It wasn’t as though he’d been waiting or anything like that. He’d just felt thirsty, so he gone down into the kitchen to fix himself a drink, and once he’d had his three cups of tea, he’d needed to use the loo several times. Then, unfortunately, he realised the last cup had been a breakfast brew, which meant he was now unable to sleep because of the caffeine content. Bit of a poor decision on his fault, and it meant he was heading into the kitchen again for the fourth time that evening when the front door opened.

The sound of footsteps treading lightly up the stairs met his ears, as did the sound of Rose’s bedroom door being opened and closed quietly. The backlit glow of his watch face told him it was just after one in the morning. The Stag’s Horn would just be closing by now.

John needed to pee again, so he went upstairs. He turned off the faucet. There was a string of muttered curses coming through the wall. Cautiously, he knocked on Rose’s door. It opened. Rose looked up at him, trepidation flashing over her features briefly, before consternation took it’s place.

“I heard you cursing.”

She blushed, embarrassed by the situation. “Sorry. Was I too loud?”

“Nah. I was in the loo. What’s wrong?” he asked.

For a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer. But then she turned and retreated towards her desk, saying, “My computer won’t turn on. I left it to charge overnight, and now the screen’s just blank!”

John peered over her shoulder at the hot pink laptop sitting on the desk. She was angrily stabbing at the Enter key on her keyboard, a magnificent scowl on her face.

“I could take a look at it,” he offered.

She sighed with the air of someone throwing in the towel. “Sure. I’d appreciate that.”

He reached over her arm to hold down the power button and the F8 key. Booting into Safe Mode usually did the trick. His hand brushed her fingertips along the way, nothing particularly strange about it, except for the way she reacted-

Rose stiffened, and jerked away from him as if he were carrying the bubonic plague. The screen flickered to life, displaying the Advanced Boot Options. John barely registered it in the silence that followed. He stared at the two feet of sudden, empty space between them, feeling both baffled and disconcerted.

Rose cleared her throat, her face bright red, and muttered, “Sorry. I just- got a shock.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, not knowing what else to say. Stiffly, he tapped on her laptop keyboard a few more times, and exited out of Safe Mode. It restarted normally when he powered it on again. “There you are.”

“Ta,” said Rose, awkwardly.

With nothing left to say or do, John bid her goodnight and went back to bed.


	42. Chapter 42

The day had gone wrong the moment it started.

His favourite jumper had gone missing, he’d fallen asleep wearing his glasses and had rolled over in bed so one of the hinges had gone wonky, and when he went downstairs to fix himself some tea he burned himself on the pot and spilled milky Earl Grey all over his lab notes.

It rained as soon as he departed and he hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella. John  arrived at his lab seminar soaked and furious. His lab partner took one look at him and was immediately on guard, as though afraid he might chew her head off. He almost did. The experiment fared no better - it ended up a complete failure due to several crucial mistakes on his part, which meant he had to schedule a day to redo it. Guiltily he apologised to Tosh, who accepted it with a slightly wary nod and said, “Hopefully you’ll be in a better mood next time.”

To top it all off, he’d been given even more marking to do by Professor Saxon, who clearly didn’t think his graduate teaching assistants had better things to do besides slave over poorly written first year assignments. He was so busy he barely had time to take a lunch break, and by the time he got home he was starving and in a thoroughly foul disposition.

Donna physically reared back when he stomped into the kitchen, dumping his wet jacket on the table with a ferocious scowl. She’d gone off to visit her gramps over the weekend, which meant he’d been mostly alone for almost three days now.

“You could peel paint with that glare,” she commented. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“What’s got you in such a miserable mood?”

He didn’t feel like going into the dreary details of the horrid events of the day. “Nothing. I’m bloody starving. Is there any food?”

“Leftovers, I think?”

She went over and opened the fridge door, surveying the contents. He suspected it was empty, just as it had been in the morning. There was no food because no one had cooked anything in the kitchen, or eaten meals in it, for days. No one had left empty cereal bowls in the sink, or disposable coffee cups on the counter with pink lipstick smudges on the rim. Nor were there empty chip wrappers clogging up the bin.

“Tell you what,” said Donna, closing the fridge door again and turning back to face him, “Why don’t we go down to the pub?”

—–

People _would_ keep asking him what the matter was. Why was it that he wasn’t allowed to have a bad day? Everyone had bad days. Sometimes life was just absolute shite and it didn’t have to have some deeper underlying meaning other than everything being complete shite.

“Are you alright, John?” Ianto laid a hand on his shoulder tentatively, looking concerned. “You seem to be in a very bad mood.”

Why was he being interrogated at every turn? Even the bartender had asked the same question. He was bloody sick of people asking him if he was alright. He hadn’t even wanted to come to the Stag’s Head, but Donna had insisted that going out would do him good.

“I am not in a bad mood!” he snapped, which even to his own ears sounded very petulant. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Donna regarded him skeptically, and said, “Give us a smile, then.”

John attempted to school his features into something less frightening, but he was not certain it worked, because Ianto’s frown deepened and Donna just laughed at him.

“Forget it, Ianto. He’s not going to cave. He’ll sulk for days before he’ll admit to whatever it is that’s bothering him. Just how he is.”

“That’s not a healthy way of dealing with stress,” said Ianto, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t bottle things up, John. It isn’t good for you.”

“I am not stressed!” he growled. His friends exchanged looks, which infuriated him even more. “The only thing I’m stressed about is all of you constantly banging on about how stressed I am!”

Donna slammed her hands on the table, startling him enough to momentarily snap him out of his tirade.

“What?” he spluttered.

She stared coolly back at him. “Nothing.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with _you_?” She shot back.

“Nothing!”

“Well, me too.” Her expression clearly said _, there, have a taste of your own medicine!_

Ianto was looking at them as if they had both gone mad, and John couldn’t exactly blame him. He found the depressing anger he’d felt all day give way at last, leaving him very, very tired.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “I’ve just had a bad day. Just a lot of trivial, stupid things going wrong, one on top of another, and it’s made me snippy.”

Ianto offered up a listening ear, claiming that a good rant might make him feel better, but John declined and opted to go up to the bar to see if his food was ready yet. He was starting to feel a bit faint. He’d have some nosh and call it an early night, and maybe he’d be a better human being and friend in the morning.

The flash of blonde hair at a table in the corner caught his eye, and his stomach did a funny little lurch as he remembered why he’d been reluctant to come here in the first place. Donna had mentioned it in passing when he’d asked. Studying with her classmates at the pub. Rose.

There were notebooks and binders piled on the table, yes, but also two pints and a big basket of greasy chips. And the classmate, distinctly non-plural, sitting across from Rose was young man chatting away happily at her, saying something that made her flash a big smile at him.

He only realised he’d been standing there staring at her when someone tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Mate, you gonna move or what? You’re in the way, come on-”

“Sorry,” he said hastily, shifting aside, his eyes still glued to the table in front of him. At that moment the blonde head looked up, seeming to sense his watchful gaze.

Rose looked straight at him, her smile fading.

He really had no choice. He walked slowly over to her table, and said, “Hey.”


	43. Chapter 43

“Nice meeting you,” said the bloke, Adam _whatsit_ , before he left.

John mumbled something back along the same lines, but the noise of the pub drowned him out. He stood by awkwardly as Rose said goodbye to her friend, not once looking in his direction.

When Donna emerged with a flush on her cheeks - Marcus the bartender had been hitting on her again - the three of them headed home together. Donna walked in between her housemates, chatting aimlessly as they all pretended the palpable tension in the air didn’t exist.

Rose immediately bolted up the stairs to her room when they reached the house. John felt like doing the same.

“Well,” said Donna sardonically, hands on her hips. “That wasn’t awkward at all.”

—–

“Sleep didn’t do much for ya, did it?” she commented in the morning when John shuffled into the kitchen, eyes red-rimmed and face pale.

That would be because he’d slept very poorly. Barely at all. He seemed to be coming down with something - his stomach felt queasy and his body was heavy, lethargic. There was definitely no improvement in his outlook on life, either.

Still totally shite.

—–

Tuesday came around. John morosely did his grading and went in to redo his experiment at the lab. He managed to complete it without making the same mistakes and the results were passable. Not his best work. He found he couldn’t muster up the energy to care, much. Tosh frowned at him but said nothing.

The house was empty once again. John moped around, trying to occupy himself with a good book and finding himself unable to concentrate on it.

Ianto rung. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the pub?”

“Yeah,” said John gloomily. “I’m knackered.”

There was a pause. “OK. It’s just - Rose is here again, you know. She’s with that classmate of hers. She must be doing very badly in that class.”

—–

Ianto rung again on Wednesday, noting that Rose was once again at the pub.

“No need to report to me,” said John, annoyed, and hung up.

—–

“Are you _still_ sulking?”

Donna rolled her eyes at him, laid out on the sofa, a half-eaten tub of praline & chocolate ice cream melting on the floor. It was Friday.

“This is getting ridiculous.”

John sighed deeply.

“Are we going to talk about it, or do I have to stage an intervention?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just feeling ill.”

“You’re depressed and moony and it’s driving me bonkers!”

“Moony?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“It means I’m getting tired of waiting for you to figure it out. How dense can you be? The both of you! I might go spare, honestly!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do me a favour,” Donna said, “And think about it really hard. Really, really hard.”

John stared at her, nonplussed.

“Tell me when you’re done. Lord help me, if history repeats itself again, I will _kill_ you.”

With that she went into the kitchen. John followed and demanded to know what it was she thought he ought to be thinking hard about.

“What else? _Rose._ ”

This immediately put him on the defensive. With great caution and a fair amount of reluctance, he asked, “What about her?”

“Surely even _you’ve_ noticed she’s been avoiding you.”

Hearing it said out loud made him feel funny, like someone had just sucker punched him in the gut. He swallowed the sick feeling at the back of his throat, and shrugged.

“Instead of moping all day, why don’t you do something about it?”

There wasn’t much he could do, was there? Somewhere along the way he’d clearly fucked up, and he didn’t even know what he’d done.

Donna regarded him pityingly. She’d read his mind as she always did, knowing exactly what he was thinking. Her tone was exasperated, regardless. “C’mon, you’re a bloody genius, you can figure this one out-”

John shook his head.

“-She’s giving up on you and moving on, you great big dunce!”

There was silence in the kitchen.

Donna narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“What?”

“I said, she’s moving on-”

It was the first part of her declaration that he was having trouble processing, though the later bit was pretty damned alarming as well. His mouth went dry and he tried to form words, finally managing a weak, “Moving on?”

“Yeah. You know. Focusing her attention elsewhere. The boy from the pub, whatshisface.” She made a face, and looked consideringly at John for a moment. “You could take him, though, easy. Short little thing, just stomp on him, no problem-”

“Moving on?” John echoed, repeating the words as if they didn’t make sense. “W-with _Adam_?”

“Tragically, it appears so. She does seem to have pretty bad taste,” Donna agreed. “Can’t understand it myself.”

There was an insult in there somewhere, he knew, but he was still too shocked to register it.

“Well?” she demanded impatiently. He didn’t know what she wanted him to say. “What are you going to do about it? Are you going to fight him?”

“Fight him-!?”

“Not literally. Probably wouldn’t go down well. I was just joking about the stomping-”

John stared at her, bewildered. “Why would I…?”

“Well, it’s better than pining away for her, isn’t it?” She snapped her fingers in his face, as if to wake him up. “Hello? You’re _jealous_ , John.”

His brain ground to a halt. If life was a cartoon or a sitcom (sometimes he really felt it was one of the two, or perhaps both at the same time), a brakes-screeching sound effect would have played loudly over the moment.

_“What?”_


	44. Chapter 44

Tony woke at the crack of dawn, which meant everyone else in the house did too. It was difficult to sleep through _Peppa Pig_ being blasted at top volume, followed by Blue Peter and then an hour or two of _Robocar Poli_. Quite the noisy lineup.

Rose yawned, cracked her eyes open, and blinked blearily at the pink walls of her bedroom. For a moment she was disoriented, wondering why her dresser was in the wrong place and where her alarm clock had gone. Then she remembered, _I’m at home with Mum and Dad,_ and rolled over to check the time on her mobile. 7:30 AM.

Too early to be awake on a Sunday morning, especially on a long weekend. She’d escaped yesterday, leaving a note taped to the fridge informing her housemates that she was spending the bank holiday with her family. They probably were still sleeping, she thought. Donna never got up before ten if she could help it. 

As for John… he was a night owl… but he’d get up willingly if woken, whether to fix tea or to go to the shops to purchase ingredients for an ill-advised cooking adventure… cheerfully grumbling as he carried the shopping basket, hair sticking up every which way as he played at being the Apple Whisperer, spending a ridiculous amount of time selecting half a dozen perfectly ripe specimens. Unfailingly he would pick up a bunch of bananas, reciting his lecture about the importance of potassium in cell maintenance, and then happily fling in a tub of strawberries as well because they were Rose’s favourite kind of fruit.

She shook her head free of such thoughts as she rinsed potatoes under the sink tap, helping her mum fix Sunday Roast. It all felt so cozy and familiar, a beloved routine she’d sorely missed once she’d started living away from home, and one she’d tried to recreate with unsuccessful results.

Much to her horror, her Mum’s chatter turned away from the topic of neighbourhood gossip to Rose’s ‘boyfriend’.

“He’s a lovely boy, you know” Jackie continued. “Your father likes him, and you know how rare that is. I’ve never seen him take to any of your boyfriends like he has with John, it’s amazing. He’s never even let me taste his new recipes, much less go into that shed!”

That probably had more to do with the fact that Pete’s concoctions were not fit for consumption, and he didn’t want to subject his beloved wife to potential drink poisoning. He’d tried once or twice to slip Mickey a bottle in sixth form, but Mickey had a strong sense of self-preservation and had told Mr. Tyler that his Gran had forbidden him from drinking anything carbonated or sweet. Rose still found it difficult to wrap her head around the fact that John had willingly gone along with it. One more confusing thing to add to the laundry list.

A little hopeful part of her, deep down, insisted that it meant something - that John had to have some sort of feeling towards her. No one was that nice. That same stupid hopeful voice also pointed out that he was particularly nice to Rose. It had replayed every moment of interaction and catalogued each lingering glance, each meaningful sentence, finding the flimsiest evidence and holding it up as concrete gospel.

She’d spent the better part of two weeks avoiding him, distracting herself with school and tutoring, buying time to think about what she ought to do - and still came up with nothing. Donna had texted her several times, a string of vaguely concerned messages about John behaving oddly - ending with a very cryptic message that contained nothing but a photo of a tub of ice cream melting into the carpet in the living room. Rose was mystified, but didn’t reply. She was too stressed out with her own inner turmoil.

“What _has_ John been up to? He hasn’t come round lately.”

“He’s been busy,” Rose said, scrubbing the potatoes with rather more force than was necessary. Her words came out more curt sounding than she’d meant them to, and her mum noticed.

“Are you two having a spat, then?” Jackie asked, taking the potatoes from her. “Darling, pass us the peeler.”

Rose handed the peeler over. The urge to spill everything - the entire truth - almost overwhelmed her, but she knew better than to cave in a moment of weakness.

Jackie gave her a sympathetic look and patted her wet hand with her own. “Whatever it is, love, I’m sure you two can work things out.”

The temptation proved too great. “I don’t know, Mum,” she said, uneasily. “I can’t see a way to fix what’s happened.”

“What happened, sweetheart?”

Rose bit her lip, wondering how she could ask her mother for advice without giving away any details. That was what came of lying, she thought, guilt and unhappiness eating away at her. It snowballed until you were forced to keep lying, even when you really didn’t want to.

After a moment, in a small voice, she confessed, “I’m not sure he really likes me, Mum.”

There was a pause, and then Jackie smiled. “Of course he does.”

_If only I could be so sure_ , thought Rose with a pang.

At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Jackie said, rolling her eyes, “Your father’s forgot his keys again, I’ll wager-”

Rose wiped her hands dry on her jeans and went to answer, passing by her little brother in the den, still deeply entranced by anthropomorphic fire trucks. She opened the door and felt her the bottom of her stomach drop like a tonne of bricks.

John stood on the doorstep, in brand new denim jeans and a smartly pressed blue shirt with a tie, of all things, around his neck. He looked like he was going to Church, which she had never known him to do because she suspected he was an atheist. But there he was, sideburns and daisies in hand.

She stared at him. Mum appeared behind her and said, “There you are! Come on in, sweetheart!”

“Hello,” he said, sounding slightly nervous, and handed Jackie the flowers. His eyes slid to Rose, and she thought for a second he’d wanted to give them to her instead.

Jackie took them and beamed. “Perfect timing - we could use an extra hand in the kitchen!”


	45. Chapter 45

“What’s John doing here?” Rose hissed between gritted teeth, following her mother back into the kitchen.

“I invited him over for Sunday Roast, of course,” said Jackie, setting the daisies into a vase on the table. They were starting to wilt already. “It’s the perfect opportunity for the two of you to make up!”

 _Bloody flipping great_ , thought Rose.

Tony had been distracted by John’s arrival, and so overcome with jubilance he’d managed to tear his eyes away from _Peppa Pig_ long enough to throw himself at John’s legs, nearly toppling him over. Rose was miffed by this, partly because Tony had never greeted her, his only sister, in the same elated fashion and partly because she’d wanted to do the same. An unfortunate side effect of avoiding John was that she missed him, quite a lot.

Even without looking, she’d felt his eyes on her back as they left him in the den with her brother, who had laid claim and would not let go. The sound of their playing with Tony’s train set and toy dinosaurs could be heard faintly through the kitchen door, over the sound of Jackie chopping carrots.

She knew that he knew that she was keeping her distance. The awkward encounter at the pub with her friend Adam had been nothing short of agony. He’d seemed jealous, which was just… baffling, really. He couldn’t possibly be. And if he was, what on earth was she supposed to do about it? She couldn’t very well confront him about his true feelings, not when he’d made it clear he didn’t do relationships.

An hour later, Sunday Roast was ready. Everyone was seated at the table, including John, with Tony between him and Rose.  

“Eat up,” Jackie said, her eyes measuring him up and down and judging him far too skinny for her liking. He did seem rather malnutritioned, Rose thought, secretly surveying him as well. There was strain under his eyes, but his cheeks had a tinge of a flush to them, as if he were embarrassed or excited. He was acting normal, perhaps a bit bashful, but with a certain level of comfort in his surroundings that made her feel equal parts troubled and annoyed.

She still didn’t quite know what to do about the fact that he’d been here, with her family, without her knowledge. What did it mean? Was she angry about it? Should she take him to task for it?

Everything was a headache, and so Rose opted to do what she’d been doing since she’d come to realise she was in love with her best friend: she ignored it, and tried to think of excuses to send John away.

—–

“You don’t have to stay,” Rose said to him several hours later, as her parents readied themselves for their evening out. “I can watch Tony by myself.”

“It’s fine,” John replied, “I don’t mind. Anyway, he wants me to stay.”

This was true, even if it was extremely vexing. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to spend the rest of the night alone in her house with John, especially after they put Tony to bed. It was only going on four and her parents wouldn’t be home until at least ten, which was _six whole hours_ away.

Why were her parents going out, anyway, on a Sunday night?

“Thanks for babysitting, sweetheart,” Jackie said, kissing her on the cheek. “Your father and I don’t often get to have Date Night anymore.”

She looked so happy and pleased Rose didn’t have the heart to be angry about it. Tony had come to get a kiss goodbye and a hug. Normally he threw a fit when his parents went out without him, used to being the center of attention, but tonight he seemed content to cling to John’s hand.

“That’s where I came from,” Tony was saying, with all the seriousness of a three year old explaining the mysteries of life. He was pointing at Pete’s belly.

“No, love,” said Jackie with a laugh, “You came from Mummy’s tummy.”

“No, I came from Daddy!”

“Well, you did,” John agreed slowly, because he wasn’t wrong, exactly, but-

Tony shook his head, stubbornly continuing to point at his father’s stomach.

“Bit lower,” said Pete, which earned him a smack on the arm from his wife.

Jackie said, “He kept asking where babies came from, so we tried to teach him, but I think he still doesn’t really get it.”

“Yes,” Pete said wryly, patting his son’s head. “Bit premature, I expect. We waited until Rose was sixteen to give _her_ the sex talk.”

“ _Dad!_ ” said Rose.

“Alright, alright, time to get a move on, Jacks. We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

“Don’t let Tony stay up past his bedtime,” Jackie reminded them as she was ushered out the door. “No juice or soda, either, he’ll be up all night. Milk is fine. And keep the kitchen window closed!”

“Yes, mum,” said Rose, “I know.”

Pete looked back at John and mouthed over Jackie’s head, _Ten-thirty. See you in the shed._

“Dad!” Rose had seen, and pushed him out the door in embarrassment. She mumbled to John, her cheeks pink, “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” he replied. The night stretched out ahead of them, full of tension, and Rose couldn’t bear the thought. This wouldn’t do at all. She had to find a way to send him home, if only for her own peace of mind.

John turned to Tony, a big smile on his face. “I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Tony perked up, eyes wide. “What?”

Checking his watch, John said, “It should be here any minute now- are you ready?”

The doorbell rang. Rose blinked, about to ask exactly what kind of surprise John had planned, when he reached out and opened the door, revealing something huge and greenish behind it.

“Surprise!” exclaimed John, throwing his arms up.

She didn’t have a chance to speak, because Tony had started to cry at the top of his lungs.


	46. Chapter 46

_24 hours earlier-_

_“What?”_

Donna snorted. “You’re not the only one, if that makes you feel better. She was dreadful jealous at the cottage when you were chummy with Martha. And now you’ve gone all green-eyed monster over this Adam boy… it’s so bloody obvious, anyone with eyes can see the two of you are smitten with each other!”

He cast a startled look at her and opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but found that nothing came out.

“Thought so,” Donna said with grim satisfaction. “More importantly, what are you going to do about it?”

 _Was_ he jealous? 

It kept him up well into the wee hours of the morning, staring at his bedroom ceiling. Weak streetlamp light filtered through his window blinds, casting faint shadowy stripes on the faded paint of his old pine wardrobe, and Donna’s words kept repeating through his head as he studied them. 

Did he fancy Rose?

—–

_16 hours earlier-_

He flung the door to Donna’s room open, waking her with the crash of wood against wall, and stood over her snoozing, prone body whilst announcing grimly, “You’re right.”

She bolted up in bed, saw him, and snapped, “You psychopath!”

“Sorry.”

She lay back down again, grumbling, “Of course I’m right. I always am. What am I right about now?”

John gulped. There would be no going back once he admitted it aloud. A sleepless night of thinking had allowed him to come to only one conclusion, and he needed to follow through with it. Donna would hold him accountable, give him the push he needed to go for what he wanted.

“Everything we talked about,” he said, swallowing hard. “I need your help.”

“Alright,” said Donna, rubbing her eyes blearily and accepting his plea as her due. “First, where’s the coffee?”

—–

_12 hours earlier-_

“I understand,” said Ianto solemnly, as the specialty shop clerk rang up their rather large, rather off-season purchase.  He gave them both an appraising look, judging them to be students or wackjobs or possibly both, given that they were friends of Jack. John ignored it.

Ianto didn’t seem to notice. He smiled supportingly at his friend and eagerly said, “There’s a word for this, I’ve heard it used - you want me to be your wingman.”

“Right,” said John dubiously, wondering where Ianto had heard the term and whether or not it applied in this particular situation. “My wingman. You can do it, can’t you?”

“Of course! Whatever you need me to do, John. What are friends for?”

“Thanks, mate. I really appreciate it.”

“Here you are, chaps - er, enjoy yourselves, then,” said the clerk, still giving them a strange look.

—–

_The present, 4:21 PM, Sunday, Tyler House-_

The smile fell off John’s face as Tony screamed and shrieked and flung himself backwards, hiding behind his sister.

In the doorway, the six foot tall Tyrannosaurus Rex faltered and turned its gruesomely realistic snout full of pointy teeth towards John, short arms rising as if to ask, _what gives?_

“It’s perfectly alright, Tony,” John said quickly, grabbing one short claw and dragging the Tyranno forward, “See? He’s just here to visit and play with you!”

This only made Tony wail harder. He pressed his face into his sister’s legs and screamed, “Nooooooooooooo!”

Rose, who was having difficulty staying upright because Tony was clutching at her knees for dear life, said sarcastically, “He definitely doesn’t want to play.”

“But he loves dinosaurs!” John raised his voice to be heard over the loud sobbing.

“Yeah, well, you should’ve rented a Barney costume,” said Rose, shaking her head. “Who’s in there?”

John winced as Tony hit a particularly hysterical high note. “It’s Ianto.” 

“It’s me,” the Tyranno confirmed in an apologetic, muffled voice. “Sorry.”

Rose bent to wrench Tony’s little arms away and hugged him to her chest. “Hush, Tony, it’s not a real dinosaur, it’s just John’s friend wearing a costume-”

“Yes, look, it’s just my friend-” John tugged at the costume, trying to pull the oversized head off, making Ianto overbalance and stumble. The thing was stuck. He yanked hard, there was a ripping sound and a sort of pop, and then Ianto’s head appeared, red-faced and shining with sweat.

“Thanks,” said Ianto, struggling to swipe at his brow with a clawed arm and failing spectacularly as he was only able to raise it approximately two inches above his neck. He looked relieved. “Rather hot inside this thing, actually - hard to breathe.”

The recipient of their surprise, however, did not seem any less terrified to see a man’s head appear from within the dinosaur costume. In fact, this seemed to agitate him even further.

It took a _long_ time to get him to stop crying after that.

—–

_Sunday, 5:45 PM, still the Tyler’s house-_

Tony sat in Rose’s lap, his head resting on her collarbone and little hands fisted in her jumper.

“Now we’ll add one egg,” said Ianto, who had taken off the costume completely and now stood across from the siblings in Jackie Tyler’s kitchen. He was pouring ingredients into a mixing bowl on the table. “And chocolate! What kind of chocolate do you like best, Tony?”

There was no answer. Tony stared suspiciously at Ianto, refusing to budge from his sister’s side, and John wondered miserably how it could have gone so wrong.

The plan had been simple enough: Ianto would dress up as a dinosaur, distract and watch over Tony, and John would get some time with Rose. He’d use the opportunity to carefully and respectfully present his feelings to her. _If_ she felt the same way, as everyone around him seemed to believe she did…  if not… well, it wasn’t as though they could carry on this way indefinitely, was it? Better to just have it all out in the open.

John still did not quite believe what Donna said could be true. He always had trouble with this sort of thing, didn’t he? A great big blind spot, she said. He just never knew how it happened, when could Rose have possibly started liking him in that way? Then again, he had been so incredibly unaware of his own feelings…

He rubbed at his neck, sneaking a glance at Rose. She was rubbing Tony’s back, talking him through Ianto’s baking demonstration. “Then we’ll pop them into the oven for eleven minutes, and let them cool, and after that we’ll eat them! That’ll be lovely, won’t it?”

Tony gave a little sniffle, still not recovered from his ordeal. Every time Ianto came too close, he buried his face into Rose’s neck.

“He’ll be clingy all night,” she said, sighing. “Probably won’t sleep for ages.”

John sighed, too, inwardly. There went all his grand designs for getting Rose alone and speaking to her privately.


	47. Chapter 47

The dinosaur costume was too big to be carried on the bus, and so Ianto was forced to get back into it. They took up three seats between him, John and the torn head - but at least it didn’t matter too much as it was no longer rush hour by the time they left. Rose had laughed as she waved goodbye to them, which was the only good thing to come out of all of it.

Poor Tony had been traumatized for nothing, John thought sadly, feeling rather beastly about it. He’d bring the kid a big present next time he came round for a visit - no more dinosaurs, though. Ever. Maybe a train set or Lego.

“It’s not your fault,” John said, when Ianto rang him to apologize the following morning. “It was a daft idea, anyway.”

“Did Tony sleep last night, d’you think?”

He didn’t know, and wasn’t brave enough to text Rose and ask.

“Dunno,” he sighed. “I hope so.”

“Sorry, John.” Ianto sounded genuinely distressed. “I know you wanted a chance to sort things out with Rose-” (he’d been told that they’d had a row, because John didn’t know if Rose would like it if Ianto was privy to the truth), “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get another opportunity. Maybe once her exams are over?”

“Maybe.”

He deeply hoped it would be sooner than that. Term finals were still three weeks away.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Rose when she returned from her parents, because what else could he say? “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve given Tony nightmares and given Ianto heat rash-”

Rose looked up at him, her mouth quivering. He thought she might be about to tell him off or say she never wanted him to come near her family ever again. Unexpectedly, however, she grinned and said, “It might’ve been OK, but that costume was way too realistic. Where did you even find it?”

He shrugged, and mumbled something about a friend of a friend.

Rose wryly informed him that actually, Tony had bounced back completely the next morning and had told everyone at daycare about the Dino-Man who had come to visit him on Sunday. He seemed to expect this would happen regularly, which was a bit worrying. Ianto probably wouldn’t be up to that.

The tension between them seemed to have lessened considerably. She wasn’t obviously avoiding him anymore. His visit had changed things, somehow - made her more relaxed - but there was still a distance in her behaviour towards him, one that made him ache. She may have well and truly given up and gotten over him.

The thought made him feel absolutely wretched - had he lost his chance, forever, to be something more? He wondered if perhaps he ought to just let things be. Was it worth destroying the fragile peace they had now? There was no guarantee she still felt romantically interested in him.

Donna threw a paper plate in his face when he confessed his doubts to her. “Just because your daft dinosaur plan didn’t work doesn’t mean you ought to give up! Try again.”

So he did - this time with her help.

—–

It was perfect timing. Marcus was off that day, and his replacement at the bar of the Stag’s Head was a friendly, affable bloke called Shaun who had absolutely no chance of defending himself against Donna’s charms. He fell immediately under her sway, and within ten minutes of being introduced, he was her complete and utter slave for life.

_Dumb yet lovable_ , thought Donna, and willing to do as he was told. Perfect.

“Well, I suppose it’s okay, as long as they don’t take too long,” said Shaun, wrinkling his cute little brow. “Might get in trouble if Marcus finds out-”

“It won’t take long. I promise.”

“Alright,” said Shaun dubiously. His face cleared as he noticed her glass was empty.“I’ll go get you a refill!”

He smiled, looking adorably shy, and went off. She checked out his bum. Yep. _Perfect._

Rose arrived shortly after. “I got your message,” she said, setting her bag on the counter. “What’s up?”

Donna beamed. “It’s pub quiz night!”

“Pub quiz night?” Rose repeated the words incredulously. “That’s the emergency you were talking about?”

“We’ve come last five weeks in a row,” Donna said, putting on her best, most convincingly  plaintive face, “John’s totally rubbish at the popular culture section and Ianto was busy - I need your help!”

Rose regarded her with a touch of wariness in her expression, but merely shrugged, and climbed onto the next stool. “I can’t stay for long,” she warned. “I’ve got a huge assignment due the day after tomorrow. It won’t finish itself.”

“Oh, this won’t take long,” said Donna, smiling widely. Things were going exactly as hoped.

Thirty minutes and two rounds of questions later, a slight kink appeared in the plan.

An unfortunate accident involving an entire pitcher of beer being upended on Rose’s lap resulted in a stream of profuse apologies from the servers and from Shaun, who insisted on loaning Rose a clean spare uniform, which she could change into in the backroom reserved for pub staff. She was ushered off, bewildered and insisting that they didn’t need to pay for dry cleaning as she was just wearing jeans, but Shaun wouldn’t hear a word of it.

Donna was patting herself on the back when her mobile buzzed in her pocket. John’s number flashed on the screen. That was surprisingly quick, she’d expected it to take much longer, considering how slowly those two did things. Maybe the months of unending unresolved sexual tension had exploded in their faces at last, and John was ringing her to tell her he’d done it, and they were going to go back home to… _ugh._ Donna made a face. It was all good and well to help them get to third base, but she definitely didn’t want to think about them actually, _ick,_ doing it.

“You better be quiet,” she warned, by way of greeting when she picked up, “I’m not listening to your hanky-panky all night-”

“I’ve been waiting for ages,” John interrupted, sounding impatient and irritated, “Where is she?”


	48. Chapter 48

One minute she heard someone shout, “Door to the left, and don’t you dare leave it open, Marcus will have a fit!” and in the next she found herself stumbling uncertainly into a seemingly vacated storeroom, clutching the uniform she’d been loaned. Rose barely had time to process how very, very, very cold it was at the back of the pub when a door was slammed shut behind her and everything went dark.

She realised then what must have happened: she wasn’t in a storage room at all. She’d walked straight into the pub’s walk-in freezer and someone had just _locked_ her into it. 

Panic was just starting to nip at her (and frostbite, too, probably) when she heard voices outside the door again. Tossing the uniform aside, Rose felt her way towards it, stumbling over sacks of something hard and cold on the floor - bags of potatoes? - and banged on the icy metal surface with her fists.

“Help! Help me! I’ve been shut in!”

There was shouting, an echoing bang, and then footsteps running away in the opposite direction. Her heart sank until the footsteps returned, more than one set this time, and someone scrabbled with the lock.

Lights flooded on as the door opened, and John stood there, looking absolutely horrified.

Rose almost threw her arms around him in thankful joy, but restrained herself just in time. The kitchen staff member who’d unlatched the door stared at her in horror as well and exclaimed, “You could’ve frozen to death in there! What on earth possessed you to trespass-”

“I w-wasn’t!” she began to defend herself, but John had come forward, taking off his jacket and wrapping her in it.

“Thanks,” Rose said, as the other bloke shook his head and started to shout about how it wasn’t his responsibility to keep guard over errant pub goers who wandered into employee-only areas, and they weren’t liable for accidents like this-

John ignored him completely and put his arm about Rose’s shoulder, steering her firmly back into the bustling public room.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, sounding determined, and led her out, not stopping even to find Donna in the crowd.

It was a brisk walk across campus back to the house. They said very little along the way, Rose shivering from head to toe. If her teeth had not started to chatter, she might have asked how he’d found her. When had he arrived at the pub? How had he known?

Rose went straight into a hot shower, and when she emerged again, rubbing at her wet hair with a towel, John was in the kitchen preparing a cup of hot tea.

When he turned to look at her, she could read in his face one singular, overwhelming expression: guilt.

That was when the penny dropped.

The gratefulness she’d felt minutes ago evaporated, leaving utter bewilderment in it’s place as John opened his mouth and said- “I’m so sorry.”

—–

“Sorry for what?” she asked, lowering her towel slowly.

John froze. He found himself at a loss for words. All the things he’d practiced to say to her flew out of his head, leaving him high and dry. He was left to stare at her, like an idiot, his face growing pinker and pinker as the seconds passed, until her brow darkened with understanding.

“So you- you’ve figured it out,” she said stiffly, taking a step back. A quiver entered her voice, but she went on, her words coming out almost aggressively, and very fast. “There’s no need to- I mean, I understand. I don’t expect you to do anything about it. It’s all one-sided. Only I’d really rather not move out-”

“Of course not!” he said, shocked, barely able to comprehend what she was saying.

She spoke over him: “-Until term ends, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I don’t want you to leave!” he said, this time louder, even more shocked.

Rose looked at him sharply, and then down at the towel she was still holding. “Thanks. I appreciate it. If- if you’re uncomfortable, or you change your mind, I’d like it if you’d at least let me stay until year end. It’d be easier to find a new place to stay if I had time to look over break-” She paused, and forced her eyes up to meet his. “Sorry for making you go through this again. It’s no different from the last time, is it?”

John was stunned to realise she was fighting back tears. Her fingers were white where she was gripping that towel, and there was defeat in her posture, as if all her worst fears had been confirmed.

No different. She meant, _from Martha._

Slowly, he said, “I’ve made a great big muddle of things, haven’t I?”

“No, you’ve been very clear about things,” Rose interrupted, not looking at him again. “It’s my fault for…” She swallowed, unable to say the words. “It’s just me.”

“It isn’t.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “Sorry.”

“It’s different.”

“I just need a bit of time-”

“Rose-”

“You don’t have to soften the blow- I’ll survive. I’ve been rejected before, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

_Rejected_? She thought he was _rejecting_ her?

He practically shouted, “No!”

Rose’s eyes widened at his outburst. He hurried to fix the damage he’d done, all the while incredibly aware that she’d just openly admitted to having feelings for him - feelings she somehow thought were not reciprocated. 

“Things _are_ different, you know,” he began. 

The words came out in a jumble, his brain and mouth having a moment of disconnect due to nerves and heart-pounding hopefulness. 

“They are. Because they’re not the same. As when we started, I mean. I thought it would be the same, I did, even though straight away things were different - because _you’re_ different. It’s you. Everything is different because you’re not like everyone else, and I just never realised it because I’m thick about these things.”

Rose was regarding him as she would a dangerous creature let loose at the zoo by now. He tried, once again, to salvage the wreckage that was his gob.

“What I mean is… things are different except in a different way. You’re still the same, only I’ve been a fool.”

There. That was better. That suitably demonstrated that he recognized his own failings and let her know he was serious.

She blinked. He took a step closer.

“But I’m not now.”

There was a tiny tremble in her lower lip as she asked, “No?”

“No.” He came another step closer. “I’m not rejecting you.” She didn’t say anything. “It’s… the complete opposite, actually.”

Something threatened to break through the hard surface of her disbelieving expression. “Donna said I’d regret it, and I think she’s right.”

“Regret what?”

John came even closer, still. “Not doing anything about the fact that I fancy you.”


	49. Chapter 49

A pin drop could have been heard in the silence that followed John’s statement. He swallowed hard, waiting for a response, for a reply, for anything.

“Is this a joke?” she asked at length, her eyes glued to his face.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“No.”

“You’re really not joking? I’m not imagining this?”

“We already covered that one,” he said, aiming for levity even as her disbelief made his heart plummet. “No, and no. Really happening. That’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, you see. It wasn’t easy, so I asked Donna for help, and we-”

He didn’t finish his sentence, because Rose had flung the towel right in his face. It fell to the floor after smacking him well and proper, knocking his glasses slightly askew. He stood gawping at her, astonished by the act.

“Let me get this straight,” she said, pointing a furious finger at him, “ _You locked me into a freezer?_ That was your brilliant plan? I was about to become a bleeding popsicle!”

“No! That was an accident!”

“Then how did you know I was trapped in there?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Was that the plan, then? You’d come charging in to rescue me, and I’d just fall into your arms?”

(Actually, that wasn’t a half bad idea - but he hadn’t thought of it. And it probably wouldn’t have worked, anyway, considering how utterly ticked off Rose seemed to be at the moment. She wasn’t quite the swooning type, either.)

“I was waiting for you in the staff room,” John said sheepishly, hastening to confess all. This was definitely not going the way he’d expected, and he knew he had to win her over quickly before he made a bigger mess of things. “Donna arranged for the spill, and got her friend to let you into the back room…”

He’d waited and waited and finally lost patience. When Donna had told him over the phone Rose had already been sent into the back of the pub, he knew something had gone wrong, and the sound of her hammering on the door of the freezer had clued him into what had transpired. Guilt flooded him at the memory, recalling how frightened she had looked.

“Unbelievable,” Rose said, shaking her head. Her accusing finger made contact this time, jabbing him in the chest. “So you admit it was an ambush!”

“Well. Yes.” He couldn’t deny it, but he had to try. “I would have preferred to talk to you like this- at home, I mean, but I haven’t exactly had the chance-”

As soon as the words came out he regretted them. Rose’s expression went even harder. _Shite._

John stammered, “I-I just wanted to talk to you. Alone, I mean. So I could- that is, I wanted to- I mean, I am, I’m - I’m confessing my-”

He wasn’t able to finish again, because Rose had stepped right up to him, grabbed his shirt collars, and pulled him down to kiss him thoroughly.

John was so startled that for a moment he didn’t react, until instinct kicked in, shouting _hallelujah_ to the rooftops. He wrapped his arms around her waist, dragging her flush to him as she nipped at his mouth, making him go weak at the knees. Angel choirs sounded in his head as Rose’s hand left his shirt to curl at his neck and then upwards into his hair, which was where it belonged as far as he was concerned. His own hands had gone south on their own accord - he very much approved of their initiative.

When they parted he was dazed and had trouble breathing. He felt drugged, full of bliss and contentment and a stirring need for more. He wasn’t able to form coherent thoughts, much less speech, but Rose was made of sterner stuff apparently.

“What ever happened to-” she panted slightly (he noticed this with a touch of smugness, even through his snog-induced stupefaction), “-this being a bad idea?”

He had no idea what she was talking about. A bad idea? There wasn’t anything remotely bad about it. On the contrary, it was the best damn thing to have ever happened.

He rated it above every good experience he’d ever had in his life, which meant it was better than the chips from the takeaway around the corner, the entire menu at Nando’s, his complete stash of rather posh imported Earl Grey tea, watching the Queen’s speech at Christmas, one-upping Donna during a verbal sparring match, beating Donna at _any_ sort of competitive sport or undertaking, really (including poker matches and Twister), figuring out whodunit before he got to the last page of the book, being at the top of his class throughout his entire school career, winning multiple academic scholarships on account of being a sheer genius, and even the time he won ten quid in a bet for having mastered playing the Star Trek theme on a plastic kazoo, which his longtime old friend/enemy Harry Saxon had postulated to be impossible- nothing compared to kissing Rose.

“It’s good,” he managed to say, staring at her bottom lip caught between her teeth, “It’s _very_ good.”

She blushed a little bit, which made his insides jump for joy. “That’s not what I meant, John.”

OK. He did know what she meant, but he also knew they’d overcome it. Wasn’t that the whole point? They’d spent - wasted - too much time dancing around what they really wanted: each other. He’d not squander another moment being scared of taking risks.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, hoping she felt the same, and bent to kiss her again. She did, it seemed, for she melted wonderfully, adorably, and best of all, eagerly, into his arms.


	50. Chapter 50

Moving through the kitchen into the living room and then into his bedroom, all the while keeping their lips in full contact had been one of the best ideas he’d ever had. Top ten. No, top five. Maybe even top three. As her tongue found its way into his mouth, he revised the ranking: number one of all time, definitely.

She fell onto his bed, looking at him with what he could only imagine were what poets meant when they said ‘come-hither’ eyes, and he was summoned like a rocket into outer space, joining her on the old, squeaky mattress. He couldn’t quite believe it.

Of course he’d fantasized about getting Rose in the exact spot she was currently occupying, but the reality of it was a thousand times better than in his imagination. 

Soon he was starting to think about locking the door, except his door didn’t actually have a functioning lock - oh! Maybe sticking a sock over the knob would do, that was a thing, wasn’t it? He’d seen that in films, he was sure he had, but would Donna get the reference?

Rose squirmed under him, making a noise that was distinctly put out. He realised he’d been distracted by his own thoughts, however briefly, and she’d sensed it. She grasped his cheek and sought out his mouth again.

They proceeded to carry on quite vigorously and enjoyably for several minutes straight, until the buzzing of the mobile on John’s dresser jarred him out of the moment again.

“It’s your dad,” he whispered against her neck with a groan. “It’s like he has telepathic powers or something.”

Rose giggled.

“He’d murder me if he knew what we were doing right now,” John added happily. Not about the potential murder thing, just the reason for it.

“Nah, he loves you,” said Rose. She snagged the phone from his hand, threw it into his laundry basket with a soft thump, and went back to engaging him in his newest favourite activity of all time.

A sort of miracle happened as Rose began to roll her R’s inside his mouth - bloody brilliant, that - her shirt hiked itself up somehow. His hand happened to be on her waist, and so it naturally slipped into the gap between her top and waistband. He was touching the bare skin of her stomach, stroking it, and she made a little pleased noise straight into his mouth, sending jolts through him.

Then she squirmed, pulling back; he followed, hand on her ribs. They rolled and he found himself on top of her, his hand covering a part of her that was the stuff of dreams, really. _Under_ her top. Over something firm, a bit textured - lace, perhaps. Her own hand removed itself from the hair at the back of his head to the buttons of her shirt. John felt the movement, his heart did a funny leap, and he pulled his mouth away to stare down at what she was doing.

Something pink and trimmed with lacy-looking scallops that curved over her breasts was revealed to his gaze. His mouth had gone dry.

Rose pulled him back down to whisper into his ear, “S’not a push up bra.”

His brain short-circuited as she flicked open another button, and lifted one eyebrow in invitation. There was no further encouragement needed on his part.

—–

_Some time later-_

Suddenly, the door to his bedroom was thrown open, and Donna’s voice could be heard, shouting- “You could’ve texted me at least to tell me you’d gone home!”

Rose scrambled under the covers with a yelp.

“Ugh.” Donna stood in the doorway wearing a scowl. “One lousy text! I’ve been waiting this whole time at the pub, wondering if I’d have to bail you two out for indecent behaviour in public, Marcus would definitely never stop giving me grief over it- I’m never helping you again, if this is the thanks I get, and now I’ll have to go bleach my eyes!”

With dignity, John said, “I forgot. Anyway, haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“And put a sock on the doorknob next time!” Donna immediately retreated from the room. Her voice became distant as she hurried back downstairs, calling out, “Well done!”

—–

_Three weeks, and many snogs later-_

“What’s this?” John asked one morning, jabbing a finger at the piece of paper he’d discovered taped to the fridge.

“New House Rules,” Rose read aloud, “-As selected by D. Noble.”

  1. _HOUSEMATES WILL REFRAIN FROM GROSS DISPLAYS OF PUBLIC AFFECTION IN MY PRESENCE AT ALL TIMES_
  2. _NO SNOGGING OR ANY SORT OF FUNNY BUSINESS IN ANY COMMUNAL AREAS_
  3. _THAT INCLUDES THE BATHROOM, THE HALLWAY, THE STAIRS, THE LIVING ROOM, AND THE KITCHEN, ESP._
  4. _THE KITCHEN COUNTER IS FOR PREPARING MEALS AND MAKING TEA. SNOGGING AGAINST IT AND/OR CONDUCTING CHEMISTRY EXPERIMENTS UPON IT IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED_
  5. _SNOGGING WHILE WAITING FOR THE KETTLE TO BOIL/HAM TO ROAST/SPOTTED DICK TO STEAM IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED, UNLESS YOU WANT TO BURN THE HOUSE DOWN_
  6. _MY BED IS MY BED, TRY THAT AGAIN AND FACE THE DIRE CONSEQUENCES_
  7. _STICKING A SOCK ON YOUR DOORKNOB DOES NOT CONSTITUTE APPROPRIATE ‘ADVANCE WARNING’  
_
  8. _CLOTHING MUST BE WORN AT ALL TIMES, NO EXCEPTIONS ALLOWED!!!!_
  9. _I AM NOT YOUR PERSONAL RELATIONSHIP MEDIATOR!!!!!_



John yanked the sheet off the fridge, his face red, and shouted, “DONNA!” at the top of his lungs.

**THE END**


End file.
